


Family

by MelGayPet



Series: Family [1]
Category: One Life to Live
Genre: F/M, Family, Friendship, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-05-28 16:45:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6337168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MelGayPet/pseuds/MelGayPet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Family is what you make of it. Kyle and Fish understand this better than most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I first posted this fic to FanFiction.net last year, as a sort of experiment. I was proud of myself - I haven't been writing fic that long and it was my first multi-chapter story - but ever since I finished, I've been itching to go back and tweak some things, maybe re-write other things altogether. However, except for one sentence, this prologue is unchanged from its original form.

Layla Williamson Vega stretched and shifted, trying in vain to find a comfortable position. "Lord, it's hot. Who thought it was a good idea to do this in the summer, anyway?" She shot an accusatory glare at the man perched on the porch railing. He smiled back at her, dark eyes warm and amused.

"Sorry," he offered with a notable lack of sincerity. She huffed out a breath and shifted again, hoping to ease the ache in her back. The swing creaked loudly and she scowled. She hardly needed commentary from furniture!

"Last time, we timed it perfectly," she declared irritably, not for the first time. "September to May – no being pregnant in freaking August. This is hell."

"I know," he answered, also not for the first time. "Just a few more weeks."

She growled, low in her throat. A few more weeks was an _eternity_ , of course he didn't understand that. Men!

"I'm sorry," he said again, this time with genuine sympathy. He slid off the railing with his most charming smile. "How about a foot rub?"

She forgave him instantly. "Oooh, yes!" She lifted a sore and swollen foot in his direction and wiggled her toes. He grinned and knelt at her feet.

As he massaged, she let her head fall back, eyes closed, and felt some of her tension bleed away. The heat was still oppressive and the cotton of her maternity dress clung damply to her skin, but for the first time in too long she began to relax.

"At least your son is taking it easy today," she murmured, letting her hands rest on her belly, whose occupant did in fact seem to be resting instead of engaging in the usual gymnastics. "I'm pretty sure he's going to be a soccer player like his sister."

He chuckled. "She'll love that. It'll do her a world of good to have a sibling. I think it's kind of lonely, being an only child. I know Ol-"

As if in response, the soft babble of little girl voices in the background rose into high-pitched shrieks.

Layla opened her eyes and glared out into the yard, as annoyed by the interruption of her foot massage as with whatever squabble had broken out. "What's going on?" she called.

"She won't let me use the purple!"

"She broke it! Dad, look-"

"Everything's fine."

This last was spoken in a much lower register and with much less outrage. From his spot on the grass, "supervising" the huge sidewalk chalk project undertaken by the two girls, Cristian Vega grinned back at the pair on the porch. "Just an artistic difference of opinion." He laid a hand on his daughter's small shoulder, both to soothe and in case she flung herself at her companion.

"Sierra, your chalk is fine," the older girl's father was telling her. "You know you need to share." Sierra Rose still looked highly indignant about her broken purple chalk, but subsided at her father's pointed look.

"Okay," she said, a little sulkily. She shoved the largest broken piece across the sidewalk. "Here, you can use it."

Layla eyed her own daughter. Pilar still seemed inclined to either burst into tears or howl with fury, but she picked up the chalk, looked at it suspiciously for a moment, and with mercurial swiftness, transformed into a bubbly toddler again. "Kay!" she cried happily. "Thank you," she added, when Cris prompted her.

Layla leaned back again, answering her husband's quirked eyebrow with a brief roll of the eyes. It was one of their ongoing debates - from which one of them Pilar had inherited her what they half-kiddingly called her "artistic temperament." The answer, naturally, was "both of us" but what was the fun in that? 

Dismissing the thought with more important matters, she poked Kyle's calf with her foot. "Hey, what happened to my foot rub?"


	2. Late Night Conversations

"What do you think of Benjamin?" Oliver asked into the dark.

"Hmm?" It took a few seconds for Kyle to comprehend the words. It had been a long day and he was more than ready for sleep. "Who?"

A brief pause, then, "Benjamin. For a name."

"Oh." A breeze from the open window breathed softly on the drying sweat of his bare torso and he shivered briefly and pulled the sheet up. "Um, it's okay, I guess."

Rustling and movement beside him suggested Oliver had propped his head up on a fist and was staring down at him. "It's 'okay'? Kyle, he's going to be here in three weeks. It'd be nice if he had a name."

Really, it was almost insulting, Kyle thought. No one should be thinking _that_ hard or sound _that_ annoyed after the last very pleasant - if exhausting - interlude. "He'll have a name. Put 'Benjamin' on the list. Do we have to talk about this now? You're the one with an early shift tomorrow, you know."

Another pause, this one longer. Kyle tried for a second to decide if the silence was ominous or not, before giving up. He was too sleepy. He had nearly drifted off again, when Oliver said, "It's important."

"Yes, sleep is very important," Kyle told him. "Trust me, I'm a doctor. We're not going to be getting a lot of it when li'l Anonymous gets here, so we should be taking advantage now."

"Important that we pick the right name, I mean. Stacy named Sierra, which, you know, I'm glad, since –" he broke off.

If he was too tired to talk baby names, Kyle decided, he was definitely too tired for a discussion about Stacy Morasco.

"Oliver," he said firmly, rolling over to face his boyfriend and lifting a hand to cup his face in the dark. "I know. We'll find the perfect name for our son, I promise. But not right this minute, okay? Go to sleep."

Oliver sighed heavily, but Kyle felt him relax in capitulation. He flopped back onto the pillow.

"It's important," he said again, very softly.

"I know," Kyle said again, just as softly, and curling an arm around him, went back to sleep.

***

"Mama?"

Layla opened her eyes to find Pilar's face inches away from her own. She blinked. Even in the dim light of the bedside clock, she could make out the unhappiness on her daughter's face. "What's wrong, baby? Are you sick?" she whispered, automatically reaching out to lay a hand on Pilar's forehead. Cool, if a little sweaty. "Or did you have an accident?" That still happened occasionally, though far less frequently since Pilar's third birthday. Layla slid one foot back, preparing to give Cris a kick. Changing sheets in the middle of the night was not her job when she was this big and uncomfortable.

Pilar shook her head decidedly. "I had a bad dream."

"Oh? What about?"

She hesitated. Her lower lip trembled, before being caught between tiny teeth. Finally, she burst out, "Bad people came an' hurt you an' took the baby away!"

"Oh, sweetie." It took some doing, but Layla managed to shove herself up into a sitting position and help Pilar climb onto the bed and into her arms. "It was just a dream," she murmured into the little girl's riot of curls. "No one is going to hurt me or the baby."

"Or take 'im away?" Pilar whimpered into her neck.

"Or take him away. He's going to be born in just a few weeks and then go home with Uncle Kyle and Uncle Oliver. Everything's going to be just fine, I promise."

Patting her back and rocking her slightly, Layla gradually felt the little body relax as Pilar calmed down. She was about to suggest a return to her own bed, when the little girl pulled back to look her in the face. "Mama?"

"What?"

"Seera says the baby's gonna be her little brother an' not mine."

Layla sighed internally. Soothing away nightmares was one thing, she didn't think she was quite up to this level of discussion on few hours' sleep. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder. Cris lay unmoving, breathing evenly.

"Um, Sierra's right, honey. Remember, we talked about this? This," she patted her belly, "is Uncle Kyle and Uncle Oliver's baby."

"It's not fair," Pilar sounded aggrieved. "I want a little brother. Can we get one, Mama?"

"Uh…" Layla ran a hand over her face. Hearing a tiny sound behind her, her eyes narrowed. Had Cristian's breathing changed? "Not right now. We'll talk about that later, okay?"

Pilar seemed to accept that answer for the moment. Knowing her daughter's determination, Layla didn't have much hope that she'd forget about it entirely. She raised an eyebrow as the little girl moved to curl up against Cristian's back. "I think it's about time you got back to bed, baby girl."

"I wanna stay with you. Mama? Why is Unca Kyle an' Unca Oliver's baby in _your_ tummy?"

Layla recognized a diversionary tactic when she heard one, but she was too tired for a toddler wrangle. She lay back down, Pilar snuggled securely between her and Cris. "You know why. The baby needs a safe place to grow until he's big enough. Remember?"

"An' only girls can do that." Even in the dark Layla could see those tiny eyebrows draw together in consideration. "Can I have a baby in my tummy?"

Cristian's breathing definitely now. "Not for a very long time," Layla said firmly. "Only grown-up women can have babies." 

"Okay," her voice was sleepy and with the suddenness of toddlers, she was asleep. Layla listened to her soft breaths for few minutes to be sure, then hissed, "You were a lot of help!"

A low chuckle. "You had all the answers, babe. Just like always." Layla snorted, but when he reached a hand out across their daughter, she slid her fingers through his.


	3. Encounters

Layla Williamson Vega's day was going well.

She gazed with proprietary satisfaction around her small boutique. Open for six weeks now, the rush of ownership had not faded. _Mon Rêve_ read the curving, eye-catching logo she and Cristian had designed together. Abstract art graced the walls (each an original Vega, of course) and the center display featured the _Exposed_ line of maternity lingerie. A giant photo of Layla herself rose above the display, smiling with suggestive confidence, her hands on her curved belly. The actual Layla unconsciously replicated the gesture. It was while pregnant with Pilar that she and Adriana had designed the maternity line. She had demurred at first when Adriana suggested she model their new line herself, but truthfully, it hadn't taken much convincing. She had never felt so healthy, strong, and yes, sexy, than during her first pregnancy.

Unlike this one. Layla squinted down at her belly with affectionate resignation. Nausea and exhaustion had plagued her throughout the pregnancy, while they had been only the barest suggestions during her previous one. And despite her OB's (and Kyle's) repeated assurances that she was not carrying twins, the massive size of her belly was faintly alarming.

She had blamed the baby's sex for her discomfort. "Only a boy would cause this much trouble," she declared to all the men in her life, only half-jokingly.

 _Enough._ Layla brought her mind sternly back to the present. It had been far from easy to open her own boutique despite feeling so frequently unwell, but she had prevailed. It was all hers.

True, she could do with a few more customers, but she had a plan. With a nod at Mercedes at the register, she slipped into her tiny back office and dialed a number.

"Hello," she said. "I'd like to speak to Blair Cramer, please."

An article in Craze would be just the thing to garner _Mon Rêve_ more attention.

***

Roxanne Balsom's day was going great.

The Angel Square Hotel and Foxy Roxy were both doing a booming business, the hot young thing working at the liquor store had definitely been giving her the eye, there were rumors that _Fraternity Row_ was going to be revived online, and she was spending some time with two of her favorite people.

"Whaddya think?" She asked Sierra Rose and Liam. "Ice cream?"

Yells of glee was her answer and she grinned. Once the three of them had each chosen their flavor (an involved process) and had wandered over to sit at the feet of the angel of Angel Square, Roxy thought she might burst with happiness. There was another reason this was a great day and she had to tell somebody.

"Hey, kiddoes," she asked around licks of mint chocolate chip. "Can you keep a secret?"

Sierra's face, smeared slightly with black cherry, lit up. "Sure we can! We love secrets! Right, Liam?" Liam looked more wary, as usual. He stuck the tip of a chocolate-covered tongue out the side of his mouth, but nodded in agreement with Sierra, also as usual. The sunlight hit the red highlights in his chestnut hair. Roxy couldn't figure how Natty had ended up with such a quiet kid, but then that was probably Johnny Mac's genes. He hadn't bothered to see the kid in years. She pushed thoughts of her former tenant away. This was a happy day.

"Okay," she whispered. "But remember, you can't tell anyone yet." She leaned forward conspiratorially.

They promised (or Sierra promised and Liam agreed) and leaned forward as well.

***

Jamie Vega's day was going terribly.

It was so _boring_ in Llanview. Nothing ever happened here. It was especially boring working in her abuela's diner every day. If her father had to send her somewhere for the summer – which he totally didn't, she was absolutely old enough to take care of herself while he worked on his top-secret project or whatever – why couldn't it be to Paris with Tia Adriana? Or better yet, Chicago with her grandpa?

Jamie scowled as cleared the plates from a corner booth. The tension between her father and grandfather was so old and such a constant that she didn't much question it, but it was ridiculous. Her grandpa was awesome, and she hadn't seen him since Christmas. She tugged at a handful of tiny braids in annoyance. Grandpa wouldn't make her be a waitress, she was sure. Especially not in some old diner where jerks left a dollar tip for a fifteen dollar breakfast. And crumbs all over the place. People were gross, she decided as she wiped down the booth. If she had to work, why couldn't it be in Aunt Layla's new shop? That was a family business, too!

 _Not that I don't love Abuela,_ Jamie thought, glancing over her shoulder at the counter where Carlotta was chatting with a platinum-haired customer and fussing over the two little kids with her. It was that weird woman who ran the motel. Realizing she was unobserved, she slumped into the booth, the better to sulk.

She did love Abuela. But she treated Jamie like she wasn't any older than the little blonde girl she was handing an ice-cream cone to. She wouldn't even let her out after dark. It was worse than living with her dad. She was fifteen, not a baby!

Jamie was so involved in her own thoughts that she didn't even register the presence at her shoulder at first. When she did, she jumped up guiltily, thinking Carlotta had come over to scold her for not doing her job.

"Excuse me," a very male, very British voice said. "But is this booth taken?"

She stared. He was gorgeous. Tall, lean, with soulful blue eyes and dark hair brushed artfully to the side. He glanced quickly over one shoulder. Abuela was still busy with the ice cream buying trio. "I wouldn't hurry you," he said apologetically. "But this booth seems to offer a measure of privacy?"

'Privacy' prounounced with a short 'i.' It was too delicious. Jamie suddenly became conscious of her stained apron and the tub of dirty dishes on the table. Hot blood rushed to her face. Thanking God that her skin tone generally didn't reveal her blushes, she stammered, "Of course! Here, just let me get this out of your way and I'll bring you back a menu."

Taking the dishes back to the kitchen, she dumped the tub by the sink and paused, hoping to calm her racing heart a little. Smoothing her uniform, she took a deep breath and headed back in, snatching a menu on the way.

"Here you go," she said. "What can I get you?"

"Um, just ice water, I think," he said, fiddling with a silver ring on his thumb. She tried not to sigh at the sound. Bringing him the water, she belatedly introduced herself. "I'm Jamie, by the way. Are you sure you don't want anything to eat?"

"No, thank you," he said, giving her a slight smile and turning his attention to his water glass.

"Not from around here, I guess," she ventured, wanting to keep him talking.

"My fam – uh, no."

"What's your name?" she asked more directly.

He looked back up, seeming a little startled. "Zane." He winced, as if he hadn't meant to say that.

Jamie was falling more ridiculously in love by the syllable, but she didn't miss that, or his furtive glances toward the door. He was hiding something, maybe on the run. She gazed around the diner. The hotel lady and her kids were gone and Abuela had disappeared too, probably in the back. She slipped into the booth.

The new arrival stared at her in obvious surprise. "So, Zane," she said, "what's your story?" She gave him her best, brightest smile. He actually blushed, his fair skin showing it easily. Jamie thrilled at the sight. This day was definitely starting to look up.

***

Oliver Fish's day could have been going better.

"I'm fine," he insisted. "It's barely a scratch. Just wrap it-"

"There's a risk of infection," the EMT insisted right back. "You need to go to the hospital and get it checked out."

"I can do that later – Commissioner!" Fish jumped to his feet at the sight of his boss, gauze trailing from his bleeding arm. Ignoring the EMT's cry of protest, he reported, "McGowan's in custody."

"Good. What happened to you?"

He and the EMT spoke over one another.

"McGowan resisted, nicked me with his knife -"

"Officer Fish has a laceration three inches long and is refusing to go to the hospital –"

Bo raised his eyebrows, then lowered them again.

"You misunderstood," he said to the EMT, but looking pointedly at Fish. "Officer Fish knows protocol and would never refuse medical attention for an injury incurred on duty."

"Sir," Fish protested, nobly ignoring the _so there_ expression on EMT's face. "It's not serious. I need to book McGowan and write my report –"

"The report can wait and Hunter can book him, unless you think he can't handle it."

As a matter of fact, Fish had his doubts about Hunter, but this was hardly the time or place to air them; with Bo glaring at him with gruff concern, EMT Tattletale's ears flapping, and Hunter himself just yards away, leaning against the squad car with a faintly self-satisfied air. As if he'd done a damn thing to take McGowan down other than show up a full thirty seconds after Fish had managed to get the cuffs on the repeat convenience store robber in this filthy alley, while bleeding freely.

"No, sir," he said reluctantly. "But I'm really fine. I think-"

"Hospital, Fish. Get checked out and then get back to the station. We'll need that report." With that, Bo walked off in Hunter's direction. Fish glared after him, then switched the glare to the EMT. _Lisa_ , her nametag said.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But I'm riding in front."

It wasn't that he intended to hide anything, Oliver thought, forty-five minutes later, scanning the ER and clutching a few prescription in his uninjured hand. Obviously Kyle would notice the shallow slice on his arm. It just wasn't necessary to alarm him unnecessarily by showing up, bloodstained and dirty, at the hospital. Much better to show off his neatly-stitched wound at home, having showered and changed. After working his full shift, which proved, Fish silently pointed out to an imaginary Kyle, that it wasn't serious. Kyle could fuss a little bit, he conceded, but really, he should mostly be impressed that Oliver had chased down and collared a violent offender by himself. Right?

"Right," he agreed aloud, as he handed the prescriptions over to the hospital pharmacist. The man looked startled for half a second before going off to fill it. He no doubt saw stranger things.

After another quick glance assured him his boyfriend was nowhere in sight, Oliver slumped wearily against the wall. Another benefit to his preferred telling-Kyle scenario was that it gave him time to calm down. With the adrenaline wearing off, he was definitely feeling a little shaky. Also, his arm was starting to hurt now.

"It's barely a scratch," he told himself, Kyle, and also the pharmacist, who gave him a paper bag with his pills in it, along with a professionally-cheery, "Glad to hear it!"

"Uh, thanks," he said, flushing, and hurried off toward the nearest door. Great, now he was talking to himself in public. The day could only get better from here, he reasoned. At least he'd managed to avoid -

"Nngh!" Rounding a corner, Oliver couldn't quite suppress a grunt of pain as he collided with someone. Clutching his arm, he stared at the familiar figure, pain temporarily forgotten.

"Oh, I'm so sor-" The other man's automatic apology broke off suddenly, as his features took on the same expression of shocked recognition that Oliver felt spreading across his own face. "Fish?"

"Schuyler Joplin?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still not much different than my original story, just a few tweaks, like renaming Layla's store and correcting Zane's eye color. I think bigger changes might be coming up, though! Feel free to comment - feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	4. Coffee Talk

Kyle yawned widely, hearing an audible pop in his jaw. Reflexively, he reached for his coffee mug and took a gulp, then grimaced and coughed. The coffee was cold. He groaned and rose laboriously to his feet, only to find the coffee pot empty. Scowling, he looked around the small lounge, but at the moment he was the only one there. Rubbing his eyes, he decided that the small comfort of knowing who to blame was not worth the mental effort required to recall which of the many people that had breezed through in the past hour might have emptied the pot and not refilled it. Grumbling under his breath, he started a new pot.

Kyle was not a morning person. Not that he was a any stranger to early mornings, medicine and parenthood had both conditioned him to function at ungodly hours with very little sleep, but that didn't mean he liked them. He tended to be cranky and reluctant when getting up.

Oliver, naturally, was a morning person. He enjoyed rising early to greet the day, all bright-eyed and chipper. Kyle had known that within a month of meeting him. More than once, Oliver had literally dragged from his bed and into the shower, so he wouldn't be late to class. At the time – and he could only blame the rosy glow of youthful infatuation – he had found it _cute._ Years later, confronted with an Oliver who could admit to his parents, his fellow cops, and international news that he was gay, Kyle was older and arguably wiser, and he figured he could reconcile himself to life with a morning person.

Little had he known, he was actually reconciling himself to life with two morning people. Sierra Rose took after Oliver in several ways, including that one. Having a hyper mini-Oliver bursting in in the wee hours to interrupt his sleep or, worse, the one early-morning activity he preferred to sleeping – and hadn't that been a hell of a morning, he'd never seen Oliver turn that particular shade of crimson – was a pain in the butt, no matter how adorable she was. Adorable and brilliant. Sierra was now old enough to understand she needed to knock before going in her dads' room, but she was also old enough to get up early and do things like take the Z-Box apart to "see how it worked." Kyle felt safe in blaming Oliver for that, too.

Buoyed by caffeine, Kyle was pleasantly occupied with thoughts of how Lewis DNA might manifest itself in the new baby – perhaps a sane attitude towards mornings – when the door swung open and one of the residents, Dr. Vidhya Chowdhury, walked in. She dumped an armload of files on the table, sending them sliding and scattering from their stack. She didn't appear to notice. "Slow day so far. I'm so bored! What I wouldn't give for a multi-car pile up right now. Do I smell fresh coffee?"

Kyle waved at the coffee pot. "You're still a resident. Trust me, after you've been working in the ER for years, you'll pray for slow days."

She looked doubtful, but nodded. "If you say so, Dr. Lewis. Still, I'd like to do more than wrap sprained ankles - not even broken! Sprained! Lancaster at least got to stitch up somebody's arm today. She said he was cute, too."

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of chances to stitch up cute arms," Kyle said dryly. "What's with the files?"

"Oh!" she looked startled, then embarrassed. "Sorry. Those are the files for the med students starting their ER rotation next week. Chief of Staff wanted you to look through them, since you'll be supervising."

"Great," he said. "Thanks for bringing them to me, but you better get back to the ER. Who knows, there might be a multi-car pile up happening right now."

Chowdhury visibly perked up at the thought and rushed out, tossing a "Yes, Dr. Lewis!" over her shoulder. Shaking his head, he eyed the files with reluctance. Truthfully, he'd prefer a good, bloody emergency himself over reading the boring files of a crop of overeager med students. With a sigh, he picked one at random and was about to open it, when his phone buzzed. Reading the ID, he smiled. "Hey, you. Miss me already?"

_"You're not gonna believe who I'm in the coffee shop with right now."_

Kyle furrowed his brow. Oliver was speaking in a hissed whisper and he sounded close to freaking out. "What?"

_"Did you know he was back? Please don't tell me you knew and didn't tell me."_

"And again I say, 'what?' Who are you talking about?"

 _"When did he even get out, let alone..."_ Oliver trailed off for a moment. _"Are you_ sure _you didn't know?"_

"Um, Oliver? You want to let me in on this conversation?"

"Crap, he's coming back with the coffee. I'll find out what I can and call you later, okay? Love you."

The call disconnected. Kyle stared at his phone, utterly baffled.

***

Oliver set his phone down on the table and smiled as Schuyler Joplin sat down opposite him, aiming for casual. Judging from Joplin's wary expression, he missed. Glad for a distraction, he grabbed the cup of coffee Joplin pushed across the table and took a large swallow. "Ow, dammit!"

Joplin chuckled and seemed to relax a little. Oliver felt some of his own tension lessen and he smiled more genuinely, despite what he was sure was third-degree burns on his tongue. "Yeah, that's exactly what I needed. This day just keeps getting better."

Joplin seemed to shrink slightly, lowering his eyes to his own coffee cup. Oliver mentally kicked himself. Unwilling to let an uncomfortable silence settle back in, he forged ahead, "So, how long have you been back in Llanview?" _How long have you been out of prison?_

Joplin's lips quirked in an almost-smile, clearly hearing the unspoken question. "I was released about six months ago. I've been staying in Chicago with a friend. I actually just got into Llanview last night."

"To visit Roxy?" Oliver prompted.

Joplin blinked. "No. Well, yeah, I'm glad to see her – I'm staying at the Angel Square Hotel, but…" he trailed off, then straightened, as if bracing himself. "I got a job at Llanview Hospital," he said, in a firmer tone.

"As a doctor?"

Oliver heard the skeptical note in his question and so did Joplin, who flushed.

"No. Um, as a drug counselor. Of course, not a lot of hospitals wanted to hire me. But I guess Bo Buchanan vouched for me."

Oliver hastily lowered his coffee, thankful it hadn't actually made it to his mouth. He was sure he would've choked and sputtered. "Bo vouched for you?"

The flush deepened. "Yeah. He's been great, actually. He talked to the parole board, too, and I think that's why I was released so early. He understands that I wasn't trying to shoot him –" he broke off.

 _You were trying to shoot Rex,_ Oliver finished mentally. Aloud, he said, "Bo is a good man."

"Yeah," Joplin said hastily, clearly eager to pass over that bit of awkwardness. "And Rachel – that's my friend I– really helped there. I don't know what I would've done without her, actually. Rachel's Bo's stepdaughter," he added, as Oliver's brow knitted.

"Right," he nodded. "Well, that's great. I'm really glad you're getting your life on track, man." He was. But did it have to be in Llanview?

"So, what about you?" Joplin asked. "I can see you're still with the LPD. What happened to your arm?"

Oliver shrugged, allowing the change of subject. "A scuffle with a suspect. Nothing serious."

"Oh. Good. So, um, you still with Kyle?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes. Joplin was looking at his coffee cup again, both hands wrapped around it, running his thumb along the rim, voice just a little too casual. "Yeah. We're great. We,uh, bought a house a few years back. In Angel Square."

Joplin nodded in response, not looking up. Well, hell. Schuyler Joplin wasn't the only one who could hear what wasn't being said. Before he could think better of it, Oliver grabbed his phone. With a few quick taps, he brought up what he wanted and held the phone out across the table. Hesitantly, Joplin took it and stared at the picture on the screen. Cris had taken it just a few days ago. It showed Kyle and Oliver sitting on their porch swing, Sierra Rose sandwiched between them, all three grinning widely at the camera.

Joplin stared at the phone for a long minute. Oliver could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. "Wow," he said at last, in a raspy whisper. "She's gotten so big."

"Yeah." Oliver suppressed the urge to snatch his phone back. "She's tall for her age – got my height, I guess," and if that came out a little pointed, so be it.

Finally, Joplin handed the phone back. He caught Oliver's eye. "Thank you, Fish" he said quietly.

Oliver nodded and stood up abruptly, shoving his phone into a pocket. Joplin's eyes widened – with surprise or dismay, he couldn't tell and didn't want to. "I gotta get back to work. Good luck, Schuyler." With that, he left, as quickly as he could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my original story, I wrote Schuyler working at the hospital as a doctor, but I was never sure about the choice. It seems implausible, after a prison sentence and the rest of his history. (I know, implausibility in Llanview, perish the thought!) So I took the opportunity to correct that. Drug counselor works well for him, I think.


	5. Confrontations

Fish typed the last word in his arrest report, hit 'send' and leaned back in his chair, stretching out his arms and legs. This reawakened the throbbing in his arm. With a grimace, he glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes until his shift ended and he could go home and down some painkillers. He was thinking longingly of his bed and his personal physician when a voice interrupted.

"Fish," Chief of Detectives Theo Price called, sticking his head out of his office door. "Just got your report. Any reason you're writing it and not Bruce?"

 _He mysteriously disappears whenever it's time for paperwork,_ Fish thought sourly. "No reason, boss. I figured I might as well do it, if I was stuck on a desk today."

Price nodded, accepting that. He leaned against the door jamb, quirking an eyebrow inquisitively. "You could have taken the rest of the day off, you know."

"I'm fine, really. Just a few stitches. Should be back on the street tomorrow. Oh, hey, Natalie should have those results you were asking about this morning. I'll head down to the lab and get them."

Price cleared his throat. "No, uh, that's all right. I'll go down myself in a minute. Head on home, Fish, your shift's almost over." He ducked back in the office before Fish could reply.

***

Oliver walked into his house. "Hey!" he called. "Anyone here?"

"Up here," a voice came from upstairs.

After securing his gun away in its lockbox in the hall closet, Oliver stopped in the kitchen to get a glass of water to wash down a pain pill. That done, he headed up to the bedroom. He found Kyle rummaging through shirts in the closet. "What are you doing?" Oliver asked, slipping his uninjured arm around the other man and kissing him on the top of his head. He breathed deeply, taking in the familiar blend of spicy-smelling shampoo, the sharp tang of hand sanitizer, a very faint whiff of blood, and the unidentifiable scent that was uniquely Kyle. He felt several knots in his muscles loosen.

"Looking for a clean shirt," Kyle answered distractedly.

Oliver released him and stretched out on the bed, barely holding back a moan of relief. "Where's Sierra?" he asked after a moment.

"Still with Roxy. We'll pick her up on the way back, she's cool with babysitting all the kids tonight."

Oliver nodded into his pillow before realizing he didn't actually know what Kyle was talking about. "All the kids? On the way back? Where are we going?"

Kyle turned and gave him a disbelieving look. "We're having dinner at Cris and Layla's. With Carlotta and Jamie, too. Don't you remember? This has been planned for like a week."

 _Crap_. Oliver groaned, sensing his evening of rest slipping away. The last thing he wanted to do was to get up again.

"Did you seriously forget?"

"No," Oliver lied. "Do we have to go? I've had kind of a long day."

"Yeah?" Kyle asked. "Does it have anything to do with that weird call this morning? I was gonna call you back, but then an emergency came in and it was one thing after another."

Oliver groaned louder, the sense of guilty disorientation he'd been feeling all afternoon bubbling up again. He did not want to have a conversation about Schuyler Joplin, not when he was sore and exhausted. Possibly not ever. He groped for a distraction.

"I think Price has a thing going on with Natalie," he offered. Kyle blinked at him, clearly thrown by the non sequitur.

"So…what? Is that like a perk of the chief detective's job?"

"Kyle!" He snorted, trying not to be amused. "You better not ever say that where she can hear you. She'll kick your ass."

Kyle puffed out his chest dramatically. "I can take her."

Oliver eyed him skeptically. "Suuurre you can."

Kyle made a face at him, before sitting down on the bed. "So secret workplace romance is why you had a long day?"

"Yup," Oliver said. "But the real secret romance is Price and me – oops." He looked over at the other man with wide eyes. "Did I say that out loud?"

Kyle tilted his head to the side, as if in serious thought. "You could do worse," he said after a moment. "Price is pretty hot."

Oliver snickered. Kyle smirked. Having won that round, he returned to the original topic.

"We said we'd go, they're expecting us. Cristian's making paella. You seriously want to turn that down?"

Oliver did, in fact, love paella, but at the moment was loving his bed more. It seemed to take a great effort to even roll over onto his back. He felt his eyes close involuntarily, as he listened to Kyle's voice. Soothing.

"It's not like there's going to be a lot of time for dinner parties in a few weeks - what the hell is this?" He felt Kyle snag his wrist, pulling so his arm was extended. Well, maybe not so soothing. Oliver sighed.

"It's just a scratch. Small scuffle with a suspect, just needed a few stitches. I'm fine." He opened one eye to see how that was going over. Kyle didn't look reassured. In fact, he looked downright alarmed. Oliver felt the grip on his wrist tighten as Kyle's expression changed to one of angry realization.

"Stitches?" he demanded, gaze flickering between Oliver's face and his bandaged arm. "So you were at the hospital today?"

"Yeah," he admitted reluctantly.

"Cute arms," Kyle muttered.

"What?" Oliver asked, confused.

Kyle ignored the question, glaring fiercely. "You got hurt and came to the hospital where I work, and it didn't occur to you to, say, let me know?"

"Well, if you say it like that, it sounds stupid."

"Why?" Kyle asked, glaring. Oliver rubbed his free hand over his face. He had a good reason. He knew he did, if he could just remember it.

"Look, I'm sorry, all right? I just didn't want you to worry." He winced, sensing that was the wrong thing to say.

"I'm a fucking doctor, Oliver!" Kyle shouted. Oliver jumped a little at the noise. "I think I can handle a little blood!"

He pulled his hand free and sat up. "I know, okay? I'm sorry!"

Kyle flung his hands up in the air and slid off the bed to pace the room. Oliver wrapped his arms around his torso and watched. Kyle was muttering angrily under his breath, Oliver couldn't make out what he was saying. He decided that was probably for the best. After a few minutes, he was about to apologize again when Kyle stopped and swung around to face him.

"Look," he said, voice strained the way it did when he was trying not to shout. "I know you can get hurt. I accept that. You have to accept that I'm going to worry about you."

"I know – " Kyle raised a hand, and Oliver closed his mouth.

"What I can't accept," he went on, with a pointed glare, "is you trying to hide things from me. That's not how it works, Oliver. How we work. You don't get to keep secrets like that, not from me."

"Can I talk now?" Oliver asked politely. Kyle snorted and made a 'go ahead' gesture.

"You're right. I should've told you at the hospital. I didn't because I didn't want to worry you, and," he added emphatically as Kyle bristled again, "because, well, I was a little shaky."

Kyle's scowl softened at that.

"I was _fine_ ," Oliver stressed. "It – this scratch – it's nothing. I can't get freaked out by little things like this or I can't do my job. And I can shrug it off and go back to work, I did today. But you would've seen it. It would've been harder to go right back." Suddenly more tired than ever, he lay back down. After a moment, he felt the bed dip underneath Kyle's weight. A hand settled gently on his thigh.

"You could've told me that, too," Kyle said quietly. "Or, crazy thought, taken the rest of the day off?"

Oliver huffed out a breath. "I had to go back today. It's just a scratch."

"You have nothing to prove to anyone."

He forced his eyes open and did his best to glare. "I know that."

"Good." Kyle patted his leg and stood again. "Did you get painkillers and an antibiotic?"

"Yeah. Downstairs."

"Okay. I'll call Layla, tell them we can't make it tonight."

"You can still go."

"Yeah, right," Kyle scoffed. "I think you require closely supervised personal care." He waggled his eyebrows. Oliver snorted.

"Kyle?"

"Yeah?"

"About not keeping secrets."

Kyle paused in the doorway, glancing back at him. Oliver closed his eyes, feeling sleep coming to claim him. He barely managed to get the words out before he was out.

"I saw Schuyler Joplin today."

***

Kyle walked with determined strides down the hall to Roxanne Balsom's first-floor apartment in the Angel Square Hotel. He hadn't been able to get anything useful out of Oliver after his unexpected revelation – opiates always knocked him right out. Finally, Kyle had given up and let him sleep, after pulling off his shoes and covering him with a blanket. He had called Layla to bow out of the dinner and then roamed restlessly around the house. An aborted attempt to organize some patient files had proven that he wasn't going to be able to concentrate. Well, fine. If he couldn't get answers out of Oliver, he knew where he could get them. He had given his dead-to-the-world boyfriend one quick kiss on the forehead before heading out.

 _Dead to the world._ Kyle scowled at the door in front of him. He took several deep breaths, trying to stay calm. Reverberations from the argument with Oliver, resolved though it may have been, still sung through his body, making his muscles twitch. His stomach clenched and images flashed through his mind – Oliver bleeding, Oliver shot and unconscious, Oliver dying underneath his hands as he tried frantically to save him. He shook his head hard, trying to dislodge them, and squared his shoulders.

He knocked. Immediately what sounded like a trampling herd thundered behind the door until it shook suddenly – impact from someone slapping a hand against the other side. "I got it!" Sierra's unmistakable voice hollered from inches away and Kyle smiled in spite of himself. The door was wrenched open to reveal his daughter grinning on the other side, flanked by Liam McBain and tiny Pilar Vega. Sierra's face, already flushed with triumph, brightened even more. "Dad!" she cried, and flung herself at him. Accustomed to catching Sierra-missiles, he was already crouching. "Hey, munchkin," he said, straightening up with her wrapped around him. "Hey, guys."

"No fair," pouted Pilar, lower lip threatening to stick out.

"She always wins," Liam said matter-of-factly and smiled up at Kyle. He realized they must be talking about the race to the door. "You know you're not supposed to answer the door without an adult," he reminded his daughter. She scrunched up her nose disdainfully. "Where's…Rox." Even as he said her name, she emerged from the back hallway. Her face lit up, much as Sierra's had.

"Hey! I wasn't expectin' ya 'til later." She crossed the room to give him a hug, which he did his best to return while still holding Sierra. "Decide to ditch the grown-up dinner and join the real party, huh?" she asked with a wink.

"Not exactly. I-"

"Dad!" Sierra interjected. "Roxy gave us manicures! Look!" She waved a hand in front of his face.

"Yeah? Lemme see." The 'manicure' consisted of glitter nail polish in purple – Sierra's current favorite color. Swinging her down, he knelt to admire the other's manicures as well. Pilar had each fingernail painted a different color ranging from bright bubblegum pink to a dark indigo, while Liam had chosen a shade of tiger orange.

"I painted Roxy's nails, too," Sierra declared importantly. Roxy obligingly flashed her own deep crimson nails.

"Good job, kid. Why don't you go get your stuff so we can head home." At this, protest bubbled up from all three kids.

"C'mon, Kyle," Roxy coaxed. "Stay. I was just about to make strawberry dromedaries. Virginal, of course."

"Yeah, I can see that more sugar is exactly what's called for here," Kyle said wryly, watching Sierra bounce up and down.

"Daaaad," she whined. "I don't wanna go yet. We're having fun."

"It's time to leave," Kyle answered, more sharply than he meant to. He softened his voice. "Uncle Cris'll be here before too long to pick up Pilar, anyway. You'll see Roxy and Liam tomorrow, okay? Go get your stuff." She went, pouting all the way, with the other two on her heels.

"So spill," Roxy ordered once they were alone "I can tell somethin's up."

Kyle felt his lips twitch in an ironic smile. "That's my line."

She furrowed her brow quizzically.

"How's Schuyler?" he asked bluntly.

She gaped at him.

"You have mentioned him in a while," he continued, leaning his hip against the kitchenette counter with an ease he didn't feel. "Anything big happening? Like, I don't know, off the top of my head, he's been released and is back in Llanview? Is he staying here?" He made a show of looking around.

Roxy skirted around him carefully and moved behind the counter. "I gave him back his old room."

"Oh, right, I should have guessed." Roxy said nothing, just stared hard at her blender, as if expecting an answer to appear within.

"Why didn't you tell me, Roxy? You must've been over the moon that he was out. I would've been happy for you."

She laughed harshly. "Really? You weren't exactly his biggest fanatic before he went to prison."

 _Neither were you,_ Kyle thought cruelly. Aloud, he said, "I'm your friend, Rox. I don't know what it is about me that makes people not tell me shit I should know-" He broke off, struggling to keep his temper. 

Roxy was facing him now, eyeing him with a surprisingly shrewd gaze. "Sky didn't want me to tell anybody. He made me promise." She lifted her chin pugnaciously, as if daring him to find fault with that.

He opened his mouth, not sure at all what would come out, when the kids, Sierra in the lead again, came running back in. "I got my stuff, Dad," she announced, holding up her purple and blue backpack. "Can't we stay a little longer? Please?"

With difficulty, he broke away from Roxy's gaze. "Sorry, kid, no. Time to go home to Daddy. Say good-bye to everyone."

It took a few minutes, Sierra insisting on giving everybody a hug before leaving. When the door was finally shut behind them, Sierra, never one to hold a grudge, grabbed his hand and swung their joined hands widely between them, chattering all the way. Kyle found it hard to concentrate as they passed through the lobby, unable to resist pausing to glance up the stairs. Was Schuyler upstairs now? He felt a sudden urge to run up and…what? Confront him? Fight? He grimaced, unable to put his finger on why he was feeling so unsettled. He and Schuyler may have never been friends, but the guy was hardly a threat, not even to…

"Dad? Are you okay?"

He blinked and looked down. Sierra Rose was staring up at him with wide, concerned eyes, shifting nervously from foot to foot. She bit her lip and he felt a pang at the sight.

"I'm just fine, munchkin." On impulse, he swung her up into his arms again and she whooped with laughter as he carried her out the building.


	6. A Walk in the Park

Sierra Rose wasn't sure what to make of Ryder Lovett. "We were born on the same day," Liam told her proudly, grinning wide and throwing an arm around Ryder's shoulders. "And since our moms are twins, that means we're practically twins too!" Both Liam's mom Natalie and Ryder's mom Mrs. Lovett made cooing 'isn't that so cute!' noises. Sierra frowned. Liam was _her_ best friend, what business did this kid have coming in from wherever he came from and being his twin? And he was little, shorter even than Liam, who wasn't as tall as Sierra. Before she could tell Ryder that best friends beat practically-twins, his mom was talking to her.

"Oh my goodness, are you really Sierra Rose Morasco? I haven't seen you since you were a tiny little thing!"

"Sierra Rose Fish," she corrected. And in case that sounded rude, she added, "Ma'am."

Mrs. Lovett nodded. "Of course, you're right. I'm sorry." Her lips were twitching like she was trying not to laugh, like Sierra had said something funny. Sometimes grown-ups were dumb.

"Why don't you three play for a while?" Natalie suggested. "Sierra is really good at soccer," she added and Sierra forgave her for being Mrs. Lovett's twin. She grabbed the soccer ball and started to run off to the wide-open part of the park where there were no trees, knowing Liam would follow her and so would Ryder, unless he was dumb, too.

"Stay where we can see you!" Natalie called after them.

"We will," Sierra yelled back over her shoulder, before rolling her eyes at Liam. 

"I'm going to have a baby brother soon," she bragged to Ryder, just so he would know he wasn't so great. He looked jealous and Sierra felt pleased.

"I have a sister. She's older. She's bossy," he said and Liam nodded.

"Where is she?" Sierra wondered. She thought maybe she'd like Ryder's sister. Sometimes people called her bossy, too.

Ryder shrugged, like it didn't matter. "She went over to visit our cousin Sam. C'mon, let's play." So they did.

Ryder was pretty good at soccer and Sierra thought maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He might have been shorter than Liam, but he could run as fast (but not as fast as Sierra) and kick the ball further. One particularly hard kick sent the ball sailing high over her head and into the bushes at the edge of the field. "I'll get it," she yelled and looked over to where Natalie and Mrs. Lovett were. They were still sitting on the bench, talking to each other. They hadn't noticed. Sierra turned and ran through the bushes. They caught at her hair and clothes and scratched her arms and legs, too, but she barely felt it as she burst through to the sidewalk on the other side. Breathing hard, she looked around for the ball.

"Looking for this?"

Sierra jumped. She hadn't even noticed anyone else close by. A pretty lady with dark hair and a lot of shiny jewelry was smiling down at her. An older man with white hair who seemed familiar somehow was next to her and he was smiling too. The lady held out the soccer ball.

Sierra took it. "Thank you," she said. She was going to run back, but the lady bent down so she was eye-to-eye with Sierra.

"What's your name, sweetie?" she asked. Sierra scrunched up her nose – she asked the question the way grown-ups sometimes did when they already knew the answer – but she told her anyway.

"Sierra Rose Fish," she said, and bit her lip. "I'm not supposed to talk to strangers," she told them. That was an Important Rule and she'd forgotten.

"That's absolutely right, young lady," the man with white hair said, nodding at her. He put his hand on the lady's back. "Maybe this isn't a very good idea."

She didn't pay any attention, just kept staring at Sierra with big dark eyes. "I'm not a stranger, honey. I haven't seen you since you were a baby, but I was best friends with your mommy."

Sierra backed off a few steps, hugging the ball close to her chest. "I don't have a mommy," she said, her own voice sounded kind of loud. Was this lady was crazy?

"Kimberly," the man said warningly. "You're scaring her."

She stiffened - she wasn't _scared_ \- but before she could tell him so, she suddenly remembered where she knew the man from. "You're Liam's grandpa!"

He smiled really big and nodded again. "That's right. My name is Clint. Liam talks about you a lot."

She felt so relieved that he wasn't a real stranger that she started talking fast. "I don't have a grandpa. Well, I do, kinda, but he lives far away and he isn't very nice." She scowled, thinking about the last time her grandparents had come to visit. It was a long time ago – she'd only been four, like Liam – but she could still remember. She hadn't heard how it started since her grandma had been showing her the doll they'd brought her as a present, but all of a sudden her daddy and grandpa had both been yelling, really loud. Sierra had heard her dad and daddy yell at each other sometimes, but this was different. She couldn't remember the words of the fight, exactly, except that Daddy had yelled at her grandpa to "get the hell out of our house!" so loud that the dishes on the table had rattled. Her grandpa's face had looked scary, very red with eyes bulging, but he and Grandma had both left, even though her grandma had cried.

That wasn't the scariest part, though. The scariest part had been in the middle of the night after she had a bad dream about the yelling and had gone down to her dads' room, hoping to get in bed with them. She had stopped just outside the door, because she could hear her dad saying things like, "it's their loss, Oliver," and "you did the right thing, I'm proud of you," and her daddy had been crying. She had tip-toed back to her room as fast as she could and climbed back into her bed. She couldn't sleep, though, because of the dream and Daddy crying and the stupid doll her grandparents gave her staring at her in the dark. Sierra liked playing with dolls, but this one wasn't supposed to be played with. It was "fragile" and was just meant to be pretty and looked at. She'd gotten out of bed again and grabbed the doll and threw it on the floor as hard as she could. Its big dumb head had broken into lots of pieces and that had made her feel a little better, enough to go back to sleep.

When her dad had come in the next morning he didn't get mad or even ask her about the broken doll, just cuddled her close and told her that Grandpa had said something really mean that hurt Daddy's feelings – he wouldn't tell her what, even when she asked - and that she might not see her grandparents again for a long time. She'd been happy to hear that. She didn't come right out and say so, but she was scared of anyone who could hurt her daddy enough to make him cry. Daddy was strong and brave – he was a cop! She did tell Dad she hated Grandpa. He got a little quiet then and she thought maybe he was going to tell her it wasn't nice to hate anyone – grown-ups said stuff like that, even smart ones like her dad – but he just squeezed her tighter and asked her if she could be extra nice to Daddy to make him feel better and show how much she loved him. That was easy, so she'd agreed.

Now Sierra eyed Liam's grandpa uneasily, wondering if maybe she shouldn't trust him after all. She knew Liam liked his grandpa, but sometimes Liam didn't understand things.

"Sure you have a mommy," the lady cooed at her. "You're such a pretty girl, you look just like her. Maybe I can tell you some stories about your mommy sometime?"

Sierra shook her head, deciding that the lady was crazy for sure. Not only did she not have a mommy, but she knew she looked just like Daddy. Everybody said so.

"I don't _think_ so," a voice said from behind Sierra, and she jumped and even squeaked a little. Turning around, she saw Natalie, with Mrs. Lovett and Liam and Ryder close behind. Natalie looked really mad. Sierra hunched her shoulders, wondering if she was in trouble. "Sierra doesn't need to hear any cute stories about your and Stacy's time on the pole."

Sierra relaxed. Natalie was mad at the crazy lady, not her. The craxy lady had straightened up and was glaring back.

"Now, Natalie…" Liam's grandpa started to say, which was a mistake, since Natalie started yelling at him, too. "I can't believe you're a part of this stunt, Dad! Please tell me you're not falling for this gold-digging slut again!"

Now that Sierra knew she wasn't in trouble and she wasn't alone with weird strangers, she wanted to listen to Natalie yell and maybe hear some more bad words, but Mrs. Lovett took her by the hand and started hurrying her and the boys away.

"Who was that with Grampa?" Liam asked.

"Never mind," Mrs. Lovett told him, which wasn't an answer. She looked kind of nervous. Sierra strained against her grip, trying to listen. She was able to hear Natalie say, "stalking a five-year-old, that's a new low" before they were too far away to hear any more.

"Is Aunt Natty gonna hit that lady?" Ryder asked, looking excited. Sierra decided that she liked him after all.

"No," Mrs. Lovett said, too fast, like maybe she wasn't sure. She glanced back over her shoulder.

Sierra was remembering something else Natalie had said. _Who is Stacy?_

***

"Hide!" Zane hissed, ducking behind a huge oak tree.

"Wha -" Jamie managed, before he reached up and grabbed her by the elbow, jerking her down beside him. She yelped in indignant surprise. Before she could ask him what the hell he was doing, though, she paused, studying his face. Zane had gone very pale and his eyes were wide with panic, his breath coming in sharp bursts.

"What is it?" she whispered. When the only answer she received was a jerky shake of the head, she huffed impatiently and peeked around the tree trunk herself.

At first, she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It seemed like a perfectly ordinary summer morning at the park. People strolling along the sidewalk, kids running around and playing, couples sprawled on blankets in the grass. A woman was hurrying along the path toward them, three young kids in tow, sun bright on her hair…

 _Jesus._ She ducked back out of sight, feeling suddenly short of breath herself.

"You see her?" Zane muttered in her ear. "My Aunt Jessica?"

"Your aunt," she repeated. "Right." She swallowed hard. 

"Shh!"

They waited, hearts hammering, until Jessica and her pint-sized entourage had passed by their hiding spot. Jamie could hear their voices clearly, although through the roaring in her ears she couldn't make out any individual words. Just the tones; high-pitched questioning from the kids, calm and soothing response from Jessica. She shut her eyes and pressed her forehead into the bark of the tree, obscurely grateful for the roughness against her skin.

Finally, after what seemed like forever, she felt Zane relax beside her, letting out his breath in a whoosh. "That was close," he said, laughing a little. "Imagine staying hidden on the plane all the way across the Atlantic and then running into her completely by chance here!"

"Jessica was who you hitched a ride with from London?" She turned to stare at him.

He nodded. "She and Uncle Brody decided to relocate back here. They took the private jet, didn't even notice me sneaking along." He smirked, eyes glinting with mischief. "Well, Bree knew, but she won't say anything. Hey, are you okay?"

"Sure." _Bree._ Hearing the name was another shock. She felt vaguely like she'd been kicked in the chest. "Just…close call, huh?" She forced a smile, hoping her thoughts didn't show on her face. "I hadn't heard Jessica was moving back to Llanview. That's…great."

He shrugged, one shoulder brushing against hers. "Convenient, anyway. My parents will still be looking for me in London. If they've even noticed I'm gone," he added in a low, bitter undertone. Then he seemed to realize he was still gripping her by elbow, he let go, flushing. "Sorry, I – "

Jamie leaned forward and kissed him. His lips were surprisingly soft and he tasted faintly of bacon she'd sneaked out to him earlier. When she drew back again, the painful, inconvenient memories were firmly stuffed back where they belonged, and Zane was staring at her with an adorable doofy look on his face. Grinning, she stood up and held out her hand. "C'mon. Let's get out of here before we run into any more lurking Buchanans."

***

For the second time in two days, Oliver rounded a corner and ran smack into someone he hadn't seen in years.

"Oof," he grunted, instinctively drawing his injured arm protectively to his chest. Blinking, he stared in astonishment. "Brody?"

"Oh, I'm sorry – Fish!" Brody Lovett's apologetic expression brightened into one of pleased surprise. "Hey, man, I'm glad I ran into you."

"Literally," Oliver joked, feeling his annoyance slip away. "I didn't know you were back in Llanview. Come for a visit?"

"No," Brody answered, as they moved to a bench in a quieter corner of the station. "We're back here for good. I just got my discharge from the Navy, and we wanted to raise the kids around family. Not that the London Buchanans aren't great, or that we didn't like it there, but I know Jessica missed her parents and her sister. Llanview is home to her and she's home to me, so…" he trailed off, flushing a bit.

"That's great, man," Oliver said, both amused and touched at the other man's embarrassment, but he tactfully decided not to tease him about it. "Hey, does that mean you're looking to get your job back? That would be awesome, we've missed you around here."

Brody's smile faded. "Uh, that's actually why I'm here. I was hoping to do that, but Bo didn't think it'd be possible, not with my, uh, history…" He shrugged, trying for casual, but the disappointment was plain.

"That's not fair," Oliver objected, frowning. "Your problems are years in the past now and you were always a good cop. That, plus your military service…" He straightened. "Do you want me to talk to Bo?"

"Nah, there's no point. He said if it were up to him, he'd have me back, but with the political climate these days, the police department is too vulnerable to take another chance on someone like me." Brody's mouth quirked ironically on the last words, before his gaze turned earnest. "But thanks for the offer, Oliver. It means a lot."

Oliver nodded. _So Bo will go out of his way for Schuyler Joplin, but not Brody? What kind of sense does that make?_

"So, what happened to you?" Brody asked, pointing to the bandage on Oliver's arm. He grimaced, feeling his earlier irritation return.

"Pursuing a robbery suspect who resisted arrest. With a knife. This was yesterday and today he's got his public defender claiming I never read him his rights."

Brody shook his head in commiseration. "That won't fly, though, will it? Can't your partner back you up?"

Oliver grunted. "No, we got separated during the pursuit, he wasn't there when I made the arrest. But no, it shouldn't fly. I mean, the guy had the cash from the store he robbed still on him, and he's got a long list of priors. It's just damned annoying."

"Yeah," Brody agreed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and glanced at it, before looking back up Oliver. "Jess just texted me. She wants me to come meet her in the park. She and Natalie took Ryder and Liam there this morning."

"Really?" Oliver said as they rose. "Sierra Rose is with Natalie and Liam, too. She and Ryder haven't seen each other since they were babies. Man, it doesn't seem that long ago."

"They grow like weeds, don't they?" The two fathers grinned at each other in understanding. "I better get going. Good seeing you, Fish."

Oliver nodded, clapping Brody on the shoulder in farewell. "Yeah, I need to get back to work. You know," he added as Brody started to walk away, struck by a sudden thought. "If you can't be a cop again, maybe you should be a PI. Since Rex left, seems like most of the ones around here are sleazier than the criminals."

Brody paused, giving Oliver a startled glance, before continuing on his way, a thoughtful look on his face.

Layla shoved open the door of the Buenas Dias Café, sighing in relief at the blast of cold air-conditioned air that greeted her. It was still morning, but the August heat outside was already brutal. Her daughter darted ahead, making a beeline for the counter. She followed at a much more leisurely pace, nodding a greeting to her mother-in-law, who was moving from behind the counter with a smile.

"Abuelita!" Pilar chirped brightly.

"Hello, mi amor," Carlotta said, sweeping the little girl up in her arms. "And what are you doing here?"

"We came to see you!" she answered winsomely, throwing her arms around her grandmother's neck.

Layla chuckled as Carlotta's smile grew more delighted. "That one has her daddy's charm, that's for sure," she said wryly.

"She certainly does," Carlotta agreed. "But, here, what are you doing – you shouldn't be on your feet! Come, mija, sit down."

Layla couldn't manage to voice a protest as Carlotta all but pushed her into a chair. Truth be told, she was grateful to sit down. Her ankles and fingers were swollen, her joints ached, her back was sore, and a headache was beginning to thrum behind her temples. This last pain wasn't exactly helped by Carlotta's fussing, no matter how well-intentioned.

"Not that I'm not always happy to see you and my little granddaughter," she was saying now, slipping into a seat across the table, Pilar in her lap. "But why are you here? You look so tired, Layla! You should be at home resting," she added in a faintly reproving tone.

Layla smiled, hoping the flare of irritation she felt didn't show on her face. She loved her mother-in-law, was in fact closer to Carlotta than she was to her own mother. She did mean well, after all, and Layla was well aware that her fuse had been pretty short lately. God, she'd be happy when this baby finally arrived.

"I needed a milkshake," she said. "And a favor."

"I don't think the first part will be a problem," Carlotta said with a laugh, as one of the waitresses – Carmen, Layla thought – strode over to them and set the desired milkshake in front of Layla. She gave them a conspiratorial wink before walking off. "By now, we all know that as soon as you walk in, we should start fixing you a chocolate milkshake."

Layla laughed ruefully. She'd craved chocolate milkshakes throughout her pregnancy, some days eating nothing else. "Glad I'm so predictable." She looked at her daughter. "Do you want a milkshake, too, sweetie?"

"Yeah! But I want strawberry!"

"All right," Carlotta said, setting her down. "Why don't you go tell Carmen?" She watched Pilar rush off behind the counter before turning back to Layla. "So, what's the favor?"

Layla sipped her shake through the straw, enjoying the feel of the cold glass against her sore fingers. "I was hoping you could let Jamie off work so she baby-sit Pilar for a few hours. I'd pay her," she added. "But I don't see her in here today."

"Jamie said she was meeting a friend in the park today." Carlotta smiled. "I know she's been a little lonely staying here, so I was happy to let her go. But Pili can just stay here with me at the diner, that's no problem." They both glanced toward the counter, where Pilar was perched on a stool, wiggling happily as she sucked on her milkshake and talked animatedly to Carmen. From the way she was waving her little hands around, Layla guessed that she was showing off her multi-colored nails. She caught Carlotta's eye and saw the same fond expression she felt on her own face. Carlotta chuckled lightly, before going on. "So what are you doing today?"

Layla grinned, feeling the excitement that the heat and her physical discomfort had briefly smothered bubble back up. "I have to meet a reporter from _Craze_ in –" she glanced at her phone "– half an hour. They're going to do a feature on the boutique."

Carlotta gasped and reached out to squeeze her hand. "That's wonderful! I know how hard you've worked to open that boutique. I've been so afraid you'd overdo."

Layla shrugged. "It hasn't been easy," she admitted. "But the article should really help a lot in getting some attention for it." She paused, considering. "Even though I'm pretty sure Blair only agreed because she's friends with Cris."

"That doesn't matter," Carlotta said firmly. "Your boutique and your designs are wonderful and they deserve all the attention they can get. Oh, I'm so happy for you!"

Layla smiled, feeling tears prick at her eyes. "Thank you, Carlotta. That means so much to me."


	7. Scare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you squint, you'll see a reference to events of the online episodes. I don't want to lock myself in to saying that _everything_ that happened there happened in this 'universe' - but clearly some things did. For the purposes of this story, however, it doesn't really matter. You can assume it takes place sometime after that last episode, or not, as you like. Please, feel free to leave some feedback - I'd love to know what you think!

"So, how exactly did this happen?" Kyle asked, not bothering to keep the amusement out of his voice. "Walk into a door?"

Cris shot him an annoyed glare, though the effect probably wasn't what he was hoping for. He winced as Kyle gently prodded the swollen flesh around his left eye. "Kino got a lucky shot in," he said, sounding both embarrassed and a little proud. He smiled ruefully at the third person in the small exam room, who was slouching against the doorframe. The skinny, nervous teenager – Kyle guessed his age at about fifteen – scowled. "Then he got a little freaked out."

"I wasn't freaked out," the kid protested, defensive. "I just figured you needed a doctor. Your eye looks crazy, man."

It did. Besides the swelling and bruising that promised to turn into a spectacular shiner, the white of the eye itself wasn't white at all but blood red. The effect was startling, Kyle thought, and probably gruesome to anyone who hadn't seen two compound fractures and a severed finger so far today. Pulling out a penlight, he did a quick examination, which confirmed his first-glance diagnosis.

"Subconjunctival hemorrhage," he announced grandly, waving the penlight in a _ta-da!_ gesture. Kino stared blankly. Cristian started to roll his eyes before stopping with a pained grimace.

"In English, Doctor Lewis," he said pointedly.

Kyle grinned, unabashed. "Burst blood vessel. Not a big deal at all. Should clear up by itself in a week or so. In the meantime, put an icepack on that eye and avoid sparring with anyone faster on their feet than you." He cocked an eyebrow in Kino's direction and saw the kid relax.

"Gonna be hard," he said, the smirk on his thin face not quite masking his relief. "Him being so old and slow."

"Smartass," Cris said mildly. "And I told you – it was a lucky shot."

"Ha, you wish."

"I'm sure your boxing coach must be proud," Kyle interjected, reaching up to rub the sore spot at the back of his neck. 

Cristian smiled. "Yeah, he is."

Kino flushed. "Yeah, well," he said, shrugging the praise off. "As long as I haven't blinded you or anything, I gotta go. Things to do. See you around the gym." With that, he turned and all but fled from the room.

"Stay out of trouble," Cris called after him, but the kid was gone. He sighed, shoulders slumping slightly.

"Why don't I go find you an icepack?" Kyle offered, lips twitching. He made sure he was out of earshot before breaking out into laughter.

When he returned, calmer, he found Cristian sprawled out on the bed, hand over his eyes.

"Dude, come on," he said, holding the icepack out. "It's just a black eye. You've probably had a hundred of 'em."

"You're all heart," the other man grunted, accepting the pack and gingerly lifting it to his face. Kyle rolled his own eyes before sitting down in the chair in the corner.

"Are you worried about that kid? Kino?" he asked after a minute.

"No," Cristian frowned, considering. "Well, a little, but not really. The youth boxing program – I think it helps these kids, you know? Lets them channel their anger and aggression someplace positive. Helps me, too."

Kyle raised his eyebrows. "You have anger and aggression that need channeling?"

Cris jerked a little, as if surprised. "Well, sure," he said. "Doesn't everybody?" He rose abruptly and looked down at Kyle, opening his mouth as if to say something else before the look in his good eye sharpened. "So, hey, what's with you?"

"What?" Kyle asked, confused.

"No offense, but you kind of look like hell."

"Really? I think you need to check a mirror," he retorted, pointing to the one above the sink. Cristian did, and winced. "Exactly."

"Fair enough. But you do look pretty wiped out."

"It's been a long couple of days," Kyle said. He eyed his friend, mentally debating. There was no reason not to say anything. _He_ hadn't made any promises to keep quiet, after all. "Schuyler Joplin's back in town." It was gratifing to see Cristian's jaw drop open.

"He's out of prison?"

"Even better. He's out of prison, livin' at Roxy's, and gonna be workin' here." He spread his arms wide, indicating the hospital.

Cris stared at him in disbelief. Finally, he shook his head and muttered, "Jesus."

"Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction."

"Roxy must be thrilled," Cristian said thoughtfully after a moment's thought.

"Sure is," he bit out. Cris gave him a sharp look. He seemed ready to say something Kyle would bet he had no desire to, when his phone started buzzing insistently. Cris sighed and bent down to fish the phone out the gym bag at his feet, giving Kyle a perfect close-up of his backside. He smirked. Sure, Cris was a good friend and he may go home every night to the hottest cop in town, but he'd have to be dead not to appreciate that view.

"Oh my God," Cristian said and his tone drove all thoughts of lust from Kyle's mind and brought him to his feet. "It's a text from Blair." He'd gone pale under his bruises. "She's with Layla, they're on the way here, to the hospital." His eyes met Kyle's and the fear in his right eye was more disturbing than the blood in the left. "She says...she says there might be something wrong with the baby."

***

"This is one way to end an interview, huh?" Layla joked. "Bet you wish you'd sent someone else to fill in now."

"Are you kidding?" Blair asked. She glared suspiciously at an ancient, rusting Ford truck on her left as it drove up to the four-way intersection, but the driver obediently pulled to a stop. She eased into the intersection. "This article now has a great hook. I'm fully expecting circulation to go up. What do you think of _'Designer Delivers: a_ Craze _Exclusive'?_ " Despite her airy tone, her fingers were curled so tightly around the steering wheel that they ached.

"I think it needs work," Layla said, breathing hard. "Sounds like a Sun headline. And I'm not in labor. It's still too early, only thirty-sev-" she broke off with a low groan.

Blair wasn't about to take her eyes off the road, but she risked taking one hand off the wheel to reach out and pat Layla's shoulder. "It's going to be fine," she said firmly. "We're almost to the hospital and they'll take good care you. Both of you."

Blair was pretty sure she was as relieved as Layla when the hospital came into view. Ignoring all the posted signs, she pulled up to the emergency entrance. In a flash, she was out of the car and around the other side, yanking the passenger door open.

"Come on, honey," she said soothingly. Layla wasn't moving, eyes squeezed shut, lower lip caught between her teeth, hands cradling her belly. "We're here, you have to get out of the car." Hearing footsteps running toward her, she snapped out, "we need a wheelchair!" before noticing who she was speaking to. "Cris?" He got here fast.

"Cris?" Layla echoed. She opened her eyes, concentration turning back outward.

"Layla!" he gasped, voice thick with tension.

"Blair," Blair said dryly, waving a hand toward her own face. "Now that we've got that settled, a wheelchair?"

"Right," he said, helping his wife out of the car. "It should be-"

Ah, yes, here was an orderly hurrying toward them, pushing a wheelchair.

"Kyle already paged Dr. Baez," Cristian was saying as they moved through the hospital doors. "So we won't have to wait."

They didn't. Within five minutes, Layla had been whisked up to an OB exam room, helped into a gown, and Dr. Baez was walking in, a brisk, reassuring presence. "All right," she said with a smile, snapping on some gloves. "If everyone would please step out for a few minutes, we'll see what's going on here. You too, Dr. Lewis," she added pointedly when Kyle seemed poised to watch over her shoulder. Both men were disposed to argue, but with a keen glance at Layla, Blair grabbed Cris by the arm and towed him out of the room.

"Let her do her job without a crowd," she advised. Finally taking a good look at him, she stopped short. She reached out and snagged his chin in her hand. "Hey, what the hell happened to you?

He ran a hand through his curly hair – he'd been growing it out again, she noticed - obviously wanting to turn around and march right back into the exam room. He sighed with clear agitation, before meeting her gaze. He flinched as she reached up to lightly touch the puffy, bruised skin around his eye. "Would you believe I pissed off a Cramer woman?"

"Very funny," she said flatly, appreciating the effort it took for him to joke. His voice was only a little shaky. "You gonna tell me, or you want a matching set?"

Before he could answer, the door swung open behind them and they both turned expectantly. It was only Kyle, though, looking extremely irritated. Which, Blair reflected, was a damn sight better than scared.

"Well?" she and Cristian demanded in unison.

"Damned women actually kicked me out," Kyle grumbled, looking for all the world like he wanted to kick the door. "It's not like I'm the father or, you know, a doctor, or anything." Blair rolled her eyes. Men were all alike. Worse than children. Beside her, Cris was practically vibrating with tension.

"And I'm her husband," he said sharply. "Kyle, what's going on?"

He straightened, voice and face taking on a more professional air. "It's probably fine," he said reassuringly. "Dr. Baez is doing an examination now, but if I had to guess, I'm thinking it's probably just Braxton-Hicks. Her water hasn't broken and there's no bleeding."

Cristian relaxed fractionally, though his face was still pinched with worry. Blair let out a long breath of her own and surreptitiously checked her watch. She really needed to get back to the Craze offices to start putting her notes together for the article, plus Sam would be getting home from day camp in an hour and there was still dinner to plan...another glance at Cristian's face made her decision for her. "Let's sit down," she said, steering him toward the waiting area at the end of the hall. Kyle followed slowly, casting glances back at the door of the exam room. "And you should really put something on that eye."

"Um. I had an icepack. I guess I must've dropped it?" He looked helplessly at Kyle, who looked annoyed, but nodded.

"I'll get you another one," he said, and disappeared around a corner.

"I hate hospitals," Cris announced abruptly five minutes later.

 _Me, too._ Labor  & Delivery held especially bad memories. Repressing a shiver, she leaned over to bump his shoulder with her own. "Nobody likes hospitals," she told him.

"I do," Kyle said absently from where he was holding the wall up. She gave him a sympathetic look, but he didn't catch it as he started to pace.

After a few more minutes of anxious silence, she asked, "Should someone call Fish?" Kyle halted his pacing. Cris sent a one-shouldered shrug in his direction, clearly saying _up to you._

"I don't want to worry-" he trailed off, flushing. "I will," he finished lamely. "Once Baez tells us what's going on."

On cue, the exam room door open and Dr. Baez, was striding out, a professional smile on her face. Blair and Cristian got hastily to their feet.

"Everything's just fine," she said without preamble, holding up a hand to forestall questions. "Just a little false alarm, nothing to worry about. Both Layla and the baby are doing well."

Blair heard Cris mutter " _Gracias a Dios!"_ in a tone that reminded her strongly of his mother and she laughed, feeling a little giddy as her own relief swarmed through her. She laughed harder when Cris grabbed her, squeezing her hard, before hooking an arm around Kyle's neck and dragging him into a three-way hug. Once they disentangled, he was off like a bullet toward the exam room, barely acknowledging Dr. Baez as she agreed that he could go in. Kyle lingered for a moment, giving Blair a questioning look.

"I better get going," she told him. "I'm so glad Layla's okay. But I have about a hundred hours of work left to get done today."

"I know the feeling," he said wryly, though his eyes were still bright with relief. "I just wanted to say thanks, Ms. Cramer. For driving Layla here…and waiting."

"Blair," she corrected with an eyeroll, reaching out to squeeze his arm. "And it's no problem. I'm just glad everything worked out. Tell Layla to take it easy. Put her feet up and let everyone pamper her. That's one of the perks of being big and pregnant."

He gave her a grin so bright and charming that she was amused to feel a slight flutter in her chest. "I don't think that'll be a problem. Thanks again. Blair." With a wink, he turned and started down the hall.

"Call Fish!" she called after him. He acknowledged this with a two-fingered gesture halfway between a salute and a wave and disappeared into the exam room.

Once back in her car, she shook her head at herself, very amused. _Gay and taken, but at least he's better lookin' than his sister and with 100% less crazy._ "Blair," she said, catching her own eye in the rear-view mirror. "I think you might need to get laid. If only your secret husband was in town." She allowed herself one deep sigh, before starting the car and heading toward _Craze_ , mentally writing her article on the way.


	8. Morning Meetings

Kyle woke slowly, groaning and stretching like a cat before finally forcing his eyes open. Blinking in the early morning light, he grunted in surprise. Sierra Rose lay sprawled in the middle of the bed, face a few inches from his shoulder, snoring softly. He reached out to lay a gentle hand on her blonde head, though there was no real danger of waking her. Sierra could sleep through a tornado. Smoothing her hair away from her face, he was seized anew with disbelieving awe that this was his life – children, a house, a career, a man he loved who loved him in return. A family. _Not too bad for a white-trash kid from Nowheresville, North Carolina,_ he thought sleepily, feeling contentment suffuse his whole being.

Sleep still tugged at him, but just as he started to wonder where Oliver might be, he heard the sound of the shower shutting off – just then becoming aware that he'd heard it running. The door to the adjoining master bath must be slightly ajar, he realized, not lifting his eyes from his daughter's face. He kept stroking her hair, listening to Oliver bustle about the bathroom, humming softly as he shaved, before pulling the door open. He could hear Oliver dressing quickly, though quietly, clearly not wanting to wake his family. Kyle smiled into his pillow, warmed at the consideration and also amused, reminded of their long running joke over what could be accomplished more hastily – Oliver getting into his uniform or Kyle getting him out of it.

Oliver came around to his own side of the bed, entering Kyle's line of sight. As he'd thought, the man was fully dressed, save the gun that was still safely secured in its lockbox. Picking up his watch from the nightstand, he glanced over and met Kyle's eyes. "You're awake," he said in surprise, voice pitched low.

Kyle's gaze flickered to the clock. 5:13. He made a face. "Yeah," he whispered back. "It's even early for you. Whaddya doin'? You don't have to be at the station until 8."

"Bo asked me to come in early. Said he wanted to talk to me about something," Oliver answered, easing himself onto the bed. Careful not to jostle the sleeping girl between them, he leaned down and kissed Kyle. "Morning," he murmured against his mouth.

"Mornin'" Kyle replied. Leaning back an inch or so, he made a show of running his tongue over his teeth. "Tell me something, Officer. Have you been using Sierra's raspberry toothpaste?"

Oliver chuckled softly, his breath ghosting across Kyle's lips, before pulling back to lean against the headboard. "Well, someone used up the last of ours and didn't pick up any more."

Kyle grunted in acknowledgment before his eyes fell back on Sierra's form. "What time did she show up? I didn't hear her come in."

The amusement faded from Oliver's expression and a small furrow appeared between his eyebrows. "Little after three. She said she had a bad dream but she wouldn't tell me any details. I didn't see any harm in letting her sleep here the rest of the night," he added, half-apologetically, when Kyle's jaw tightened.

Kyle shook his head slightly. His annoyance wasn't with Oliver. "Kim," he ground out between his teeth. Oliver nodded hesitantly. Natalie had told them – out of Sierra's earshot - about the run-in with her erstwhile stepmother. Sierra Rose hadn't mentioned it when asked about her day, however, and so they hadn't pressed the issue. Kyle wondered now if that had been a mistake. She hadn't seemed upset, though maybe she had been a little more clingy than usual? Kyle's gaze flicked back up to Oliver's, considering. So far, Sierra had thankfully not seemed to have inherited her father's tendency to internalize things that frightened or confused her, but if that stripper skank had somehow made their little girl distrust them… His fingers twitched with the sudden urge to throttle someone. _I wish she'd crawl back to whatever hole she came from._ After a moment, he added mentally, _and take Schuyler Joplin with her._

"I wonder what she's doing back in town," Oliver said, his thoughts apparently running on a similar track. "Natalie seems to think she's trying to cozy up to her dad again." He watched Sierra for a moment longer, blue eyes troubled, before suddenly straightening, a look of resolve on his face. "We should talk to Sierra. Tonight, when we have plenty of time. It's time to tell her about Stacy." Despite his decisive tone, Kyle heard the faint wobble over Stacy's name and glimpsed the old guilt in his eyes, as well as a hint of fear. He knew Oliver had always been afraid that Sierra Rose would someday blame him for not being able to save her mother's life. He reached out and took his hand, opening his mouth to reassure him, but was cut off when Sierra stirred restlessly between them, her slight snoring breaking off.

Oliver smiled gratefully at him, and squeezed his hand in return, before releasing it and getting to his feet. "So, have you been thinking any more about baby names?" he asked, tilting his head curiously.

Kyle raised his eyebrows, but chose to accept the change in subject. "As a matter of fact, I have. What do you think of Stephen?"

Oliver blinked, considering it, before suddenly throwing him a sharp look. "Stephen? As in Steve Rogers?"

Kyle shrugged, trying to look as casual and innocent as possible. Oliver groaned and threw his hands up. "Okay, your Captain America crush is officially out of control. We are not naming our son after a superhero."

"Why not? Captain America is awesome. He's all about truth, justice and the American way."

"That's Superman," Oliver said, rolling his eyes.

"Whatever, he's hot. Besides," Kyle added, narrowing his eyes, "you have a crush on Iron Man."

"I," Oliver said, with dignity, "am not suggesting we name our son Tony Stark."

"Olaf," another voice piped up.

They both looked down to see Sierra Rose blinking drowsily up at them. "Mornin', sleepyhead," Kyle said with a grin. "And I'm sorry, but if Daddy doesn't like superhero names, he's probably gonna veto talking snowmen. He seems to have a Biblical fetish." Oliver smacked him on the shoulder – though whether it was for the teasing or using the word 'fetish' in front of their daughter, Kyle didn't know – before flopping back down on the bed and tickling Sierra. She shrieked with laughter. Hearing it, he mentally waved a middle finger at both Kimberly Andrews and the ghost of Stacy Morasco, and joined the attack.

***

"So, what does Bo want to see you about this morning?" he finally thought to ask, yawning over his coffee mug.

Oliver shrugged, stacking pancakes onto a plate and sliding it down the table to Kyle. "I don't know. We were actually supposed to meet yesterday, but then he got a call from his nephew in London – some kind of family emergency. Sierra, honey, leave some syrup for the rest of us, please." She scrunched her nose in displeasure, but obediently stopped drowning her own pancakes in blueberry syrup. "Maybe this McGowan thing."

Kyle paused for a moment, butter knife in the air. "You're not actually in any trouble, are you? And hey, why don't I get bunny-shaped pancakes?"

"I guess you're not cute enough," Oliver told him, winking at their giggling daughter, as he poured more batter onto the skillet. Kyle huffed in faux-outrage, prompting more giggles. "Traitor," he accused her. Unrepentant, she grinned across the table at him, revealing blueberry-stained teeth.

"No, I'm not in trouble, I don't think," Oliver went on. "Bo stands by his people and he knows McGowan's claims are bullsh...sugar," he caught himself with a quick glance at Sierra. Kyle smirked at him. He scrunched his nose in response, expertly flipping a pancake. "He probably just wants to make sure I'm prepared for any other tricks his lawyer might pull. This robbery is McGowan's third strike, you know, he's probably desperate. I can't believe that guy actually made bail." The last sentence came out in a low, annoyed undertone.

"Me neither," Kyle muttered around a bite of pancake. The white bandage on Oliver's arm stood out starkly as he piled his own breakfast onto his plate.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Dad," Sierra Rose told Kyle, eyes dancing and a smirk of her own crossing her face.

Oliver snorted with laughter as he sat down beside her. "Yeah, Dad. Don'tcha have any manners?" Sunlight was streaming in the window behind them, and in the next moment it caught Oliver's and Sierra's hair, haloing them both with bright, blazing gold.

Kyle blinked, dazzled. "Guess not," he said, voice hoarse around the sudden lump in his throat. "Good thing I have you two around to keep me in line, huh?"

***

Oliver didn't normally bother buying coffee from the cart located strategically across the street from the Llanview Police Department, instead drinking the inferior – but free – sludge constantly percolating in the station's break room, but considering that he was starting off his workday with a one-on-one meeting with the commissioner, he decided to indulge in an expresso. Sipping appreciatively, he was almost to the door when he became aware that his name was being called, loudly and repeatedly. Turning, he was surprised to see Layla waving at him and waddling towards him as rapidly as she could manage. Hastily, he moved back down the steps to intercept her.

"Layla! What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you," she told him, somewhat unnecessarily. "I stopped by your place first, but Kyle said I just missed you."

"Are you all right?" he asked, alarmed by the way she was panting and sweating. "Here, sit down."

She glanced down at the concrete steps he indicated, liberally spotted with pigeon droppings. "I don't think so. Just give me a minute, I'm fine. Wasn't expecting to have to chase you down, that's all."

"Are you sure? I think you should probably be in bed," he said, eyeing her doubtfully. "I mean –"

"Don't start," she interrupted forcefully. "I'm just fine, Dr. Baez said so, and I don't need any more fussing. That whole thing was so embarrassing," she added. "Just forget about it. Anyway, I need to talk to you."

He glanced at his watch. "Can it wait? It's just, I have to talk to Bo –"

"Your mom called me," Layla blurted out over his protest and his head snapped up, shocked. "This morning. She called me and told me something and I told her to call you, but I thought this was probably more a face-to-face kind of thing…"

She kept talking, but Oliver was no longer listening. All his attention was over her shoulder, across the street, looking for what he'd glimpsed in the moment when he'd looked back at Layla…

_There._

"GUN!" he shouted. With one hand, he grabbed Layla and shoved her down, the other moved instinctively to the holster on his belt.

He was too late. Before he could pull his weapon, gunfire erupted and screams echoed up and down the street. Layla was screaming, too, he could hear her, but he couldn't see her, his vision smeared wildly and blackness was creeping at the edges. Something had slammed into his chest with the force of a sledgehammer, he couldn't breathe, his lungs were on fire…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For this universe, assume that Stacy still drowned in Lake Llantano after giving birth. How this affected Clint's heart transplant story later on is up to the readers' imagination. Just know that neither Gigi or Clint is currently dead.


	9. Casualties

Shutting the door behind an exasperated Layla, who had brushed off both an offer to come inside and a reminder that she needed to be resting, Kyle glanced thoughtfully at his watch. His shift didn't start for another hour yet, but, thinking of the stack of intern files waiting for him, he decided to follow Oliver's example and head into work early.

Sierra, engrossed in a game on his iPad, was reluctant to leave and even more reluctant to spend the morning in the hospital daycare, but a reminder that Roxy would be coming at noon to pick her up, as she did every Friday, stopped her complaints, though she was still pouting when he left there.

Shaking his head over his daughter's dramatics, he stepped back into the elevator, jabbing the first-floor button with more force than strictly necessary. _Can't imagine where she picked that up,_ Oliver's voice murmured teasingly inside his head. He snorted slightly and propped a shoulder against the elevator wall as it jerked crankily into motion.

The mention of Roxy had, of course, reminded him of their argument. They hadn't spoken since he had confronted her about Schuyler. He shrugged irritably, as if trying to dislodge some annoying insect. He was glad to be distracted from thoughts about Roxy – or her bad penny of a son – as the doors opened again into the ER

He skulked carefully along the wall in the direction of the corridor that led to the doctor's lounge, hoping to avoid being dragooned into seeing patients before he was officially on the clock. Halfway there, however, he stopped suddenly, hearing raised voices behind the closed door of a supply closet.

He glanced back over his shoulder. People were gathering near the emergency bay doors, but none of them were looking his way. He hesitated, but curiosity proved won out and he pushed the door open, to reveal Schuyler Joplin and a young woman inside, apparently mid-argument. They both fell silent and turned to stare at him. Schuyler looked utterly disconcerted, mouth falling open, but the woman – she looked familiar to Kyle though he couldn't quite place her – simply looked furious.

"Problem?" he inquired, voice overly pleasant. "I wasn't aware you were seeing patients yet, Counselor." He allowed just a shade of irony to drip on the title. "This is an odd location for it. Or is this a personal meeting?" He cocked an eyebrow and looked expectantly from one to another

Schuyler shut his gaping mouth with an audible snap, while the young woman jutted out her rather prominent jaw, glaring between the two men. "Obviously not, since we apparently aren't even friends!" she snapped angrily, words obviously aimed more toward Schuyler. With that, she turned on her heel and moved to storm past Kyle.

"Starr, wait," Schuyler protested.

It was hearing her name that caused recognition to spark, even as Kyle stepped forward to intercept her. "Starr Manning?" he asked, taking a more authoritative tone than before, even as he felt – and ignored – the vague jolt in his gut that came every time he heard the name Manning.

She stopped short and scowled at him, clearly affronted. He stared her down and after a moment, she nodded shortly and bit out an affirmative.

"Aren't you one of the med students who are starting an ER rotation next week? I'll be one of the attendings who'll be supervising all of you."

She looked taken aback at that, angry expression disappearing. Apparently, she hadn't looked past his street clothes to realize he was a doctor. She peered more closely into his face and he saw her have her own moment of belated recognition.

"Dr. Lewis! Of course, I-I didn't realize it was you." She stumbled over the words, flushing, obviously embarrassed. She stopped and drew herself up – all of five feet of her – and looked him firmly in the eye. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Doctor," she said, more formally.

"Likewise," he said dryly, causing her to flush again. He stepped aside, however, to allow her to leave. Which she did, with a final searing glance at Schuyler. Once she was gone, Kyle turned his own gaze to the other man. "Dating the baby doctors, Joplin?" he asked, with a smirk.

Schuyler, who had been watching Starr leave, turned to stare at him, eyes widening in outrage. "I'm not dating her! That was…" he paused, rubbing a hand over his face. "Nothing," he said finally. "That was nothing."

Kyle shrugged, affecting nonchalance. "Whatever, man. Just keep your _nothing_ out of the hospital. I don't want to be opening doors here at work and walking into your personal shit." He watched the barb land, feeling vague satisfaction at Schuyler's wince, before stepping back through the doorway and continuing along his interrupted path.

"Kyle, wait!" Schuyler called after him, tone more conciliatory. He halted, surprised, and wheeled back around.

Schuyler had followed him out of the closet, and was pulling door shut behind him. He turned to face Kyle, looking distinctly uncomfortable, jamming his hands in his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of whatever he was going to say, and closed it again.

"What?" Kyle demanded impatiently. "I've got actual work to do here, Joplin."

"Roxy," the man blurted out, looking almost surprised to hear himself speak.

Kyle stiffened. "What about Roxy?"

"Look, she told me about your fight. She's really upset about it."

"It wasn't really a fight," Kyle snapped defensively, even as the other man's words pricked at his conscience.

"I didn't want to cause any trouble for anyone, that's why I asked her to keep my release quiet," Schuyler continued doggedly. "Your friendship is really important to her, okay? Don't blame her for just doing what I asked her to do."

Kyle ground his teeth together, but was touched despite himself by Schuyler's evidently sincere concern. "Look, don't worry about Roxy and me, all right?" he said. "We'll be fine. I'm going to see her later today."

Schuyler nodded, possibly as eager as Kyle to have this conversation over with. but anything he might have said in response was forestalled by a sudden, loud commotion from down the hall. They both turned just in time to see the emergency doors open, and a gurney was rushed through, heading in their direction, the crowd of people running alongside shouting orders.

Schuyler and Kyle automatically pressed themselves against the wall, out of the way, but as the gurney passed and Kyle caught a quick glimpse of the patient it contained, he leapt after it, Schuyler immediately forgotten.

"...GSW's to the upper chest and lower abdomen..."

"...book an OR, we need to operate immediately..."

"Oh, my God," Kyle gasped, hearing but unable to register all the medical details flying back and forth. Grabbing the rail of the gurney, he stared down in horror at the blood-soaked, ashen figure laying there, appearance a stark contrast to the one he'd bidden goodbye to less than an hour before. "Oh, my God, Layla."

Layla was conscious, her eyes darting around, wide with terror, before meeting Kyle's and brightening with recognition. Her mouth moved, but if she spoke he couldn't hear it over the commontion. "What's happening?" he demanded, as the gurney was rolled hastily toward one of the large patient-transport elevators. He jogged alongside, his fingers bone-white on the railing. "Tell me what's going on!"

"Page Dr. Baez," barked the resident at the head of the gurney. "Prep the OR for an emergency C-section and alert the NICU!" A nurse nodded and darted off to carry out the order, nearly bowling Kyle over on his way.

He barely noticed, the words slamming into his belly like a fist. Layla was covered in blood from shoulder to knees, the brightly patterned maternity sundress she was wearing saturated, the turquoise flowers across her bulging abdomen drowned in a flood of crimson. Even as the elevator door opened and he was forced to let go as the gurney was rolled inside, he was shouting. "The baby? Dr." – just in time, his mind supplied the name of the resident – "Lancaster, is there a fetal heartbeat?"

Lancaster answered with a terse nod, before the doors shut in his face.

Kyle whirled and sprinted back to the regular elevators. He jabbed viciously at the 'up' button, cursing the elevator's slowness. Blood roared in his ears, drowning out the noise around him. He only became aware that someone was speaking to him when the person grabbed his arm. Shocked, he jerked it away with a snarl. He turned his head and saw the person who had grabbed him was Schuyler.

"Who was that? What's going on?"

"She was shot," Kyle muttered, eyes returning to the display above the elevator doors. Dammit, one was going up and the other was all the way up on the fifth floor!

"Yeah, I saw that much. Kyle –" Schuyler kept talking, but Kyle tuned his voice out and continued to watch the floor numbers, thoughts running through his mind with brutal clarity.

_Fourth floor._ At thirty-seven weeks, the baby stood an excellent chance of survival. But if Layla died – oh, God! – before delivery, there would be only minutes before oxygen deprivation set in…

_Third floor._ The uterine wall was strong, but not enough to stop a bullet. Where exactly was the entry wound? He hadn't been able to tell.

_Second floor._ The baby had turned into vertex position two weeks before, if Layla had been shot low enough in the abdomen, the bullet could have gone straight through to the baby's head.

_First floor._ Kyle expelled a breath, the elevator doors began to open. As he lifted a foot to leap inside, however, a shout rang out from down the hall.

"Dr. Lewis!"

He would have ignored it, whoever it was, but instinct had him turning around. He saw Vidhya running toward him.

"Not now!" he snapped, jumping in the elevator and extending a finger to push the third-floor button. He growled when Vidhya slapped a hand against the closing doors, halting their progress. "I said, not now, Chowdhury!"

"But Dr. Lewis, the other GSW!"

He paused, something in her voice piercing through his urgency. "Other GSW?" he asked slowly, staring at her.

She nodded, panting a little. "I heard on the radio, there were two victims, the other one is a cop, I guess it happened right in front of the police station –"

Kyle swayed on his feet, suddenly boneless. He shut his eyes and closed his ears, tuning out the rest of what she was saying. He didn't need to hear, nor had he needed the confirmation in the glimpse he'd caught of Schuyler's face over Diya's shoulder, eyes bulging in shock. He knew. As soon as he heard the word _cop_ he knew.

_Oliver._

***

_Pneumothorax. Thoracotomy. Epinephrine._ The words echoed in his head, pebbles dropping and disappearing into a deep, black pool of wordless terror. He stood rooted to the floor in front of a set of OR doors, behind which Oliver lay fighting for his life. His heart had stopped even before they had reached the OR, right in front of Kyle's eyes, only to be shocked into rhythm again by a defibrillator and a shot of epi, before they'd wheeled him inside and – again – shut those damned doors in Kyle's face. Only the firm grasp of several pairs of hands had stopped him from charging right in after him, hospital protocols be damned.

Had that been the only time Oliver's heart had stopped? Or had it happened in the ambulance as well? His head snapped up, looking around. He caught a glimpse of dark blue out of the corner of his eye and turned, arrowing down the hall before his brain caught up and he realized that the uniformed people milling about the waiting area were cops and not EMTs.

_EMTs would have gone back to work,_ his mind coolly informed him. _The cops are here for Oliver._ His footsteps slowed. He wasn't sure if he could take hearing about the details of the shooting – or worse, sympathy.

Too late, he'd been spotted. A figure stepped out from the group and approached him. He recognized Bruce Hunter, Oliver's new partner. Lazy, Oliver had called him. Kyle felt a sudden sharp yearning for Ruriko Sato, Oliver's former partner, who had transferred to Cherryvale six months before. He'd always been able to trust that she'd be watching Oliver's back.

A sudden spurt of rage had him moving again and, even as the other man opened his mouth, Kyle shoved him backwards. "Where the hell were you?" He was shouting, barely hearing his own words, taking no notice of the sudden silence as everyone in the hall turned to stare. "Oliver and Layla both got shot and you're standing here without a goddamn scratch! Where were you?"

Hunter's mouth dropped open in shock and an ugly flush ran up his face from his neck. "Hey, it wasn't my fault! Some loony opens fire on the police station, how was I supposed to stop it? Someone was gunning for him, might be someone who doesn't like a cop who swings that way-"

Kyle lunged, swinging a fist directly into the bastard's face. Hunter fell back, but caught himself against the wall before he could hit the floor. Shocked exclamations filled the air and suddenly there were a lot of people between the two of them.

"Whoa, whoa, this isn't going to do any good," the man who had grabbed Kyle by the shoulders was saying. Through his fury, it took him a minute to recognize Theo Price. "Hunter, take a walk," Price added, raising his voice. Over his shoulder, Kyle saw Hunter shake off the two officers restraining him. With one last glare at Kyle, he walked away down the hall. Kyle felt some satisfaction at the trickle of blood coming from his mouth. He shook out his fingers, wincing.

"Ignore him, he's an asshole," Price advised him, letting go. "We're all pulling for Fish."

Kyle nodded, but the sound of someone else clearing his throat forestalled any reply.

"Um, am I interrupting something?"

He turned quickly to see Dr. Gangemi standing in the hallway behind him, looking around quizzically. Kyle realized with a horrified jolt that he had – just briefly – forgotten about everything except Oliver.

"Jay?" he asked desperately. "The baby…" he trailed off, unable to verbalize any of the horrifying possibilities.

"A strong, healthy boy," Gangemi said with a reassuring smile. "A fragment of the bullet did hit his right arm, causing a few greenstick fractures, but a few weeks in the soft cast I put on should take care of that. We'll keep him in the NICU for a while for observation, to keep an eye on that arm and make sure no complications arise, but I don't foresee any problems. Newborns are quite resilient. I expect he'll be ready to go home in a couple of days. You can go see him now, if you want."

Kyle's breath exhaled out of his lungs in a massive whoosh. He felt faintly dizzy. "And Layla?" he asked, once he was sure he could speak.

Dr. Gangemi's face sobered. "Still in surgery. Dr. Baez did the C-section and Dr. Klein is operating now to repair the damage the bullets did to her abdomen and clavicle. But she seems to be doing well so far. You should hear something in an hour or so."

Kyle nodded and then, unable to help himself, threw his arms around the other man. "Thank you, Jay," he whispered. Gangemi chuckled and patted his back.

"My pleasure," he said. Once Kyle had released him, he quirked an eyebrow at him. "Your kids do seem to enjoy making a dramatic entrance."

Kyle let out a ragged chuckle. "Yeah," he said, swiping his eyes quickly with the back of his hand. "They do."


	10. Vigil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I moved this month and have been without wifi for several weeks. 
> 
> Again, my medical expertise comes from TV and Google, so if anything is egregiously wrong...well, I tried.

"Not to alarm you or anything, but I'm your dad," Kyle whispered. The baby opened his mouth as if to reply but yawned instead. Kyle managed a chuckle. "Yeah, I can tell you're impressed."

He sat in a chair in the NICU, his son cuddled close to his chest. It had been easy to lift him out of his bassinet to hold. True to Dr. Gangemi's word, he was perfectly healthy, save for the tiny cast that encased his right arm. He was not hooked up to any tubes or wires, like his sister had once been, like the other babies in the NICU.

"You're a lot bigger than your sister was when she was born," he confided, tracing his finger featherlight across a soft, round cheek. "Don't tell her I said so, but she looked kinda like a bird with all its feathers plucked. Scrawny. But beautiful, like you. Tough. She had to be."

He stopped, fighting down a shudder. Sierra would never know her mother. Would this baby ever know his other father?

"She got her toughness from Daddy," he went on, determinedly. "He's fighting right now to come back to us. Don't be scared, all right? And you, you're tough, too. You have a badass bullet wound and you're not even a day old. Your Aunt Layla was hurt too, but she's out of surgery now. We owe her a lot, you know."

He glanced at the side of the bassinet, where _'Baby Boy Lewis-Fish'_ was scrawled in hurried letters.

"I'm sorry you don't have a name yet," he said. "Your daddy has been on me for months, but I just couldn't make up my mind. Don't take offense or anything, but at first I was pretty sure you were going to be a girl. I was thinking about naming you after you Aunt Rebecca. She… Well, that's a long story, but she would have loved you."

The baby stared up at him, blue-gray eyes serious.

"We don't have much in the way of family boy names, I'm afraid. I never knew my dad and Oliver's…yeah, another long story." His throat closed. Speaking Oliver's name aloud, right after Rebecca's…it somehow seemed like a bad omen, a jinx, an invitation to doom.

These thoughts circled tauntingly around his mind, until he was jolted back to awareness by a voice calling his name. He jerked his head up, heart pounding faster, even as his brain caught up to tell him familiar whiskey rasp belonged to none of the doctors or nurses.

"Roxy?"

"Right here, baby," she said, leaning down and hugging him from behind.

He leaned his head back against her, unable to speak. Roxanne didn't say anything either, just held on.

"Who's this handsome fella?" she whispered after a few moments.

Kyle laughed raggedly, lifting one hand to swipe quickly at his eyes. "We were just talking about that, actually. He doesn't have a name yet."

"Huh." She reached down. Without hesitation, the baby curled a tiny hand around her finger. She sighed in pleasure. "Oooh, lookit the grip he's got! Well, you know my vote."

He rolled his eyes. "Rox. For the last time, we are not naming our son after your beaver."

"Porcupine. And Morris is a great name."

"You named your kids after dogs."

"They have great names, too!" She slapped at his shoulder with her free hand, very gently.

The baby shifted in Kyle's arms, yawning again, though he didn't let go of Roxy's finger.

"Uh, speaking of my kids…"

He interrupted her by turning to kiss her cheek. Her eyes filled and she hugged him harder.

"Speaking of my kids, will you take Sierra home with you tonight?"

"Sure I will."

They fell silent again, watching the baby.

"Ollie's gonna be fine, you know." Roxanne said at length, rock-solid certainty in her tone. "He's too damn gorgeous to die."

Kyle clutched the baby carefully, as he nearly doubled over with laughter.

"Well, sure," he wheezed, when he could finally speak. "When you put it like that, what am I worried about?"

***

In Oliver's room in ICU, equipment beeped softly to itself. Kyle flicked a glance at the monitors, automatically interpreting the information there. It hadn't changed significantly in the hours since the surgery - which itself had taken over eight hours - had been over. Oliver was stable. He was holding his own. He had a long recovery ahead of him, but, but barring any complications, he should recover. 

Kyle had no problem picking up on what the surgeon _didn't_ say. Post-op complications were more common than anyone ever wanted to admit. Infection was the greatest danger. Kyle couldn't avoid looking down at the bandages that covered the incision running down Oliver's chest. Yes, an infection could be disastrous, but there were other complications. The bullet had collapsed his lung, maybe all the damage to the lung hadn't been repaired? They could have missed something. Oliver was on a respirator, perhaps he wouldn't be able to breathe on his own once he woke up.

Oliver might not wake up. Some patients didn't, even after uncomplicated, simple surgeries.

Kyle shifted in his chair. They weren't built to be sat in for hours at a time. He glanced at the clock. 3:29 AM. Oliver had been out of surgery for over twelve hours now, which meant the anesthesia could wear off at any time. He took Oliver's hand in both of his and kept his eyes firmly on the other man's face.

"Hey," he whispered and kicked himself for the inanity. _Hey?_

The sound of the respirator was harsh in the quiet.

"Your surgery went great," he said. "We're just waiting for you to wake up now. Damn it, Oliver, I'm always waiting for you."

His voice cracked and he paused, until he was sure he could go on. "That's okay. You're worth it. You always have been. I don't mind waiting now. Just…not too long. Wake up soon, Oliver. There's someone you need to meet."

He paused again, fingers tightening around Oliver's. The large hand remained limp. "Our boy is here and charming the hell out of all the nurses and doctors already. Told you he'd take after me. You should see it, it's something else. He's barely hurt, just a small cast. And Layla's going to be all right. You saved them both, Oliver. Now you need to save yourself. I swear to God, if you leave me alone with two kids…"

He pressed his eyes shut, willing the tears away. "You can't, all right? You can't leave us. Sierra needs you, the baby needs you, I need you. We need you and we love you and you don't get to leave us!"

His voice had risen on the last sentence and it seemed to echo in the small room. Kyle fell silent for a few minutes, struggling for composure. Oliver didn't even twitch.

A sudden noise had Kyle turning his head sharply. The door opened and Layla was wheeled in, dragging an IV stand alongside her, pushed by a nurse with a disapproving expression. She wheeled her next to Kyle.

"Twenty minutes, Mrs. Vega," she said. "That was the deal. And only because Dr. Lewis is here."

"Right, right," she answered. "Thanks."

The nurse – Dorothy, Kyle thought, or Doreen or something like that – nodded, still looking disapproving, and left.

"Should you be out of bed?" he asked. She wore a hospital gown and slippers and had a sling on one arm. Despite the morphine drip on the IV, her face was drawn and pinched with pain. She looked at him with an expression that he thought was supposed to be a glare, but just looked weary.

"Don't you start," she said. "I had to threaten to get up and walk down here myself before they'd bring me a wheelchair. They were afraid I'd fall on my face and rip out all my stitches. I wanted to see Oliver," she added as he opened his mouth to tell her what a disaster that would have been.

"Where's Cris? I thought he was staying with you tonight." Cris would have stopped her from getting out of bed.

She gave him a look that suggested she was following his train of thought. "He was, but Carlotta called. Pilar woke up with a nightmare and then apparently threw a giant tantrum because neither of us were home." She sagged slightly in the chair, eyes troubled. "I don't blame her, poor baby must be scared to death."

That brought Sierra Rose guiltily to mind. Was she scared? She'd mostly outgrown tantrums, but if any situation called for one, this did. He felt a desire to scream and throw things himself. Sierra was a smart girl, she'd know something was wrong, even if she didn't know what. Did she even know her brother had been born? He'd asked Roxy to take care of her, but not told her what to say. He should call Roxy in a few hours, talk to Sierra himself. He envied Cris, able to go home, reasonably sure that Layla would still be alive when he returned. His hand tightened reflexively on Oliver's and would have given anything in the world if he had woken up wincing and joking about broken bones.

"How is he?" 

It took him a few seconds to respond to Layla's question. "He came out of the surgery well. The odds are good that he'll recover fully, as long…" he cleared his throat noisily. "This is this most critical time, actually. We won't really know until he wakes up."

"Oliver is strong," she said firmly. He could only nod.

They sat silently for a few minutes, before he spoke abruptly. "Have I ever told you about my mom?"

His eyes were on Oliver's face but he could feel her sharp glance. "No, not really. Just that she…"

"Died?" he finished for her, chuckling mirthlessly. "Yeah, when I was seventeen."

"Is that what made you want to be a doctor?" she asked, tone curious.

He shook his head. "No, that wasn't until later. She wasn't sick, she…it was a car accident."

"I'm so sorry."

He nodded in acknowledgement. "She was, well, like Roxy. Funny. A little out there. Kind of a mess. But she loved me and she always thought I was the best kid ever, no matter how much I screwed up."

"What about your sister?" Layla blurted. Surprised, he glanced at her and saw her wince. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have –"

"No, that's okay," he assured her, but he looked back at Oliver, suddenly not wanting to look her in the eye. "Our mom had Rebecca when she was only fifteen. The father didn't want anything to do with either of them. She never liked to talk about it much, but I got the impression he was... older. She left her with her mother and ran away. Her mother died when Rebecca was four and she ended up in foster care. Mom didn't even know, for years. She didn't get her back until after I was born. Rebecca was eleven by then. It…wasn't easy. They loved each other, but they were never really close."

"I had no idea."

He shrugged. "She was a good sister." He couldn't let that be forgotten, no matter what she'd done later. "And my mom was a good mother, even if some people might not think so. Anyway, that's not my point. Mom believed in, well, lots of things. Psychics, tarot cards, astrology, stuff like that. She thought this one house we stayed in was haunted. I told her not even the dead would want to stick around that dump and she only laughed instead of smacking me one. Another time she hung crystals all over our trailer until her boyfriend tore them down."

"Okay," Layla said slowly.

"She believed in good luck charms. Like Roxy's rabbit's foot. One of her favorites was this smoothed stone. Brecciated red jasper. She said it represented strength and vitality and healing. She tried to give it to me a couple times, but I just rolled my eyes at her. Smart-ass kid," he added reflectively.

"Kyle-"

"I looked for it after she died," he continued as if hadn't been interrupted. "Never did find it. I wondered a few times if she lost it and that's why she got in that wreck, even though I knew that was stupid. Maybe if I'd had it with me…" He smiled faintly, waved away the objection he could see Layla about to make. "I know. But people think crazy things when they're grieving."

"Yeah, they do," she sighed, before fixing him with a stern look. "It makes sense that this" she waved her free hand in Oliver's direction, "would bring back those memories. But Oliver is not going to die."

"I know." Oh, God, please. "And it does make sense. But that's not what I was getting at, actually. He's been after me to decide on a name for the baby, you know. Made a hundred suggestions and got irritated with me because I haven't made one."

"Oh, I've heard all about it." She rolled her eyes theatrically and he couldn't suppress a snort. "And his weird Biblical name kick. I liked Noah, though. What was wrong with that, again?"

"Too trendy," he told her. "Sierra had three Noahs in her preschool class."

"Right. But what does that have to do…" she broke off and looked at him searchingly. All of a sudden, everything about her softened, eyes, expression, voice. "Oh, Kyle. You want to name him Jasper? Because of your mom? That's beautiful. Does Oliver know that story?"

"He knows how she died." He rolled his shoulders. He didn't regret confiding in Layla about this, exactly, but that didn't make it comfortable. "I used to talk about her with him sometimes. In college, mostly. I don't think I ever told him about the jasper specifically."

"You should. It's the perfect name," she declared. "He'd agree, I know he would."

"I can't," he said and realized dimly that tears were running down his face and he was helpless to stop them. "I can't name him without Oliver, I can't tell Sierra her daddy's never coming home, I can't do any of this without him, I can't!"

She started to lean forward, reaching her hand toward him, face distressed, before grimacing in pain. She grasped the arm of her wheelchair instead. "You won't have to," she said, setting her jaw. She glared at Oliver, still except for the forced breaths of the respirator. "Do you hear that, Oliver Fish? You are not allowed to do anything other than wake up and get better and be with your family! Try anything else and I'll kick your butt, I swear to God. I did not carry your kid for nine damn months so that you could save my life like…like…like some kind of hero and then leave all of us behind! I'm not losing anyone else that I love!"

The door opened and Dorothy-or-Doreen stuck her head inside. "Is everything all right in here?"

Kyle ducked his head, swiping hastily at his face. Layla laughed, sounded a bit hysterical, before gasping sharply. Kyle turned immediately back toward her. "You should really be back in bed," he told her, feeling guilty again. "You shouldn't have gotten up in the first place."

She looked disposed to argue, but a spasm of pain crossed her face. She bit her lip and nodded. Dorothy-or-Doreen came in quickly. Before she got Layla to the door, he stopped them. He rose and leaned down to give Layla a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks," he told her, huskily. "For everything."

She lips quirked in smile, which only highlighted her obvious exhaustion. "I'd say 'anytime,' buuut," she waved a hand, indicating her ravaged body. He laughed wetly and stepped back. The nurse – he could read her nametag now, it said Darlene – gave him a look of mingled sympathy and disapproval and wheeled her out.

"Well, did you get all that?" he asked, sitting back down. He picked up Oliver's hand once again, pressed a kiss across the knuckles. "I wouldn't cross her. She'll never forgive you if you don't make it through this. Neither will I. Or Sierra or…Jasper. What do you think? Is that a good name?"

The fingers threaded through his twitched. Then, very gently, squeezed.


	11. The Kids Are All Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! I debated with myself about taking the Jamie/Zane scene out - or even the whole subplot - but I wanted to give a sense that life was still going on in Llanview outside the Kish/Crayla bubble (plus I have ideas involving them that may turn into another fic starring Rachel Gannon and Kevin Buchanan someday) but I still kind of feel like it doesn't belong. Thoughts?

Cristian had been able to hear Pilar screaming before he even got through the door at his mother's house. It took him and Carlotta nearly an hour to soothe her back to sleep, clinging to her grandmother with tears still shining on her face. He whispered a good-night to the exhausted Carlotta, who whispered back promises to keep praying for Layla and Oliver, and to visit in the morning.

Feeling miserable, he shut the bedroom door behind him. He was nearly to the stairs before he stopped, head cocked, listening. Turning back around, he noticed the light shining behind the door to the bedroom he and Antonio once shared. Walking quietly down the hall, he knocked softly. "Jamie?"

A long moment passed while he heard rustling, before the door opened just enough to reveal his pajama-clad niece. "Hey, Uncle Cris," she said, around a large yawn.

"Hey," he smiled tiredly at her. "Did Pilar wake you up? I'm sorry."

She blinked at him. "Uh, yeah, but that's okay. I know she's scared." She bit her lip. "Aunt Layla's going to be okay, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah. They want to keep her in the hospital for a few days, but she should recover just fine." He patted her shoulder. "Don't worry. Go back to sleep."

She nodded and ducked back into the bedroom, closing the door quickly.

Cristian walked downstairs and out the door. Instead of going directly to his car, he moved quietly around to the side of the house and stood still in the shadow of a familiar old oak tree.

He didn't have to wait long. Within a few minutes, the second-floor window above him opened, and a slender figure heaved itself out and into the tree. Cris waited until the person had clambered down the trunk and onto the ground before activating the flashlight on his phone. Not surprisingly, the beam revealed a teenage boy, blinking in the bright light. The muttered curse, however, came from several feet above them.

"Jamie, why don't you come down and join us?" Cris asked, voice pleasant, not taking his eyes off the boy. "Use the front door. But don't wake up Abuela or Pilar."

It took Jamie roughly thirty seconds to follow this directive, during which Cris eyeballed the kid with his best intimidating glare, the one that had served him well in both prison and the boxing ring The kid, for his part, shifted his weight from foot to foot and looked very much as if he wanted to bolt.

"Uncle Cris!" Jamie said breathlessly once she appeared. "Please don't-"

"Who is this?" he demanded.

The two teenagers glanced at each other. "A friend," Jamie said, after a moment.

"The kind of friend who stays in your room overnight?"

"Sir, it's not like that," the boy protested, speaking for the first time. He broke off and shrunk back against the tree when Cris took one step in his direction.

"It's really not," Jamie said hastily. "Z-, um, he came over last night to talk – I was really worried about Aunt Layla, you know – and I guess we lost track of time and fell asleep until Pilar started screaming. We didn't want to say anything, so Abuela wouldn't be more upset." She licked her lips nervously, before taking on a more wheedling tone. "You know how she is."

"I do." He also knew from experience exactly how she would respond to 'we just fell asleep.' He looked from one to the other. "Tell me this. If you two were just talking and fell asleep, why are you in your PJ's and he's wearing my clothes?"

They both winced, the boy glancing down at himself. Hanging almost comically off his skinny frame was a tee-shirt and a pair of shorts that Cris had recognized right away as some of his workout clothes.

"Um…I…" the boy stammered. Cris stared hard at him. The British accent, combined with a throwaway comment Natalie had made when she stopped by the hospital earlier, caused something to click into place. He almost groaned.

"Zane Buchanan." _Of course_ Jamie was sneaking around with a Buchanan. He found some gratification in their shocked expressions. The boy paled noticeably even in the dim light. Cristian crossed his arms and glowered. "So. He ran away from London and you've been hiding him. In your bedroom."

"It's not like that!" Jamie insisted shrilly. "Zane slept on the floor!"

Cris raised an eyebrow.

"He did!"

"Really? Let's wake up Abuela and see if she buys that. Or better yet, let's call your dad and get his opinion." He cocked his head mock-thoughtfully. "I bet Adriana's old convent school is still open."

Jamie's eyes bulged in horror.

"Please don't do that, Mr. Vega," Zane interjected quickly. "She's telling the truth. This is my fault. Jamie just wanted to help me...I don't want her to get in any trouble."

Cris took in their pleading expressions and sighed internally. He was going to regret this, he just knew it.

"All right, look. The last thing your grandmother or any of us need right now is something else to worry about, so I won't say anything." He watched them both sag in relief before continuing, "On one condition." He pointed at Zane. "You come with me right now."

"Where?" the kid asked.

"To the police station, to see your Uncle Bo."

"Tio! That's not fair!"

"Not fair?" Patience snapping, he rounded on his niece. He jabbed his finger in Zane's direction. "His whole family is worried sick about him! Is that fair? Your Aunt Layla is in the hospital and your baby cousin is having nightmares, but instead of being with either one of them, I'm out here stuck dealing with teenage drama. Is that fair? Jamie, either get your ass back to bed right now and I'll take your little boyfriend to Bo, or I can wake Mami up and tell her what you've been up to and _then_ I'll take him to Bo. Your choice."

Jamie's shoulders slumped in defeat, but she still muttered, "Commissioner Buchanan's probably not even at the station at this hour."

Cris smiled grimly. "Oh, I bet he is. The whole LPD is mobilized, trying to find the guy who shot Layla and Oliver." He gave Zane a look. "I'm thinking he's going to be in a terrible mood." It was a little petty, but he couldn't deny enjoying the way the kid shrank even further into himself.

***

Sierra knew that what grown-ups didn't say was almost as important as what they did. Roxy told her that Daddy was hurt and that Dad was staying at the hospital to make him better. She didn't say how bad Daddy was hurt or how long he and Dad would be at the hospital. She didn't say when Sierra could go there and see them, which was really stupid and unfair. Neither of them called to tell her good-night, which meant that Daddy was probably hurt really bad. Maybe Daddy was dead and they weren't telling her.

Thinking about that made Sierra's whole body hurt. She had to see if he was all right, no matter what Roxy said.

So, in the morning, Sierra got up early and got dressed as quietly as she could before tiptoeing over to Roxy's bedroom door and listening hard. When she didn't hear anything, she tiptoed right out of the apartment and into the lobby. Nobody was there, but she whispered anyway. "Good-bye, Morris." With that, she went outside.

She had walked from the hotel to the hospital lots of times, but never by herself. Even so, she was convinced she could get there. She crossed streets and turned corners. The sun was just coming up, and not many people were on the streets. Only a few gave her a second look and she just smiled at them and they nodded and smiled back. She got confused along the way and was on the verge of panicking when she finally saw the hospital looming in front of her.

She breathed a deep sigh of relief and squaring her small shoulders, walked right in the front door. Nobody inside paid any attention. She saw the elevators by the wall and headed in that direction. Once she got there, though, she stopped short. She knew what floor the day-care center was on, but for the first time she realized that maybe Daddy wouldn't be on the same floor. She glared at the stupid elevator numbers.

"Are you lost, sweetie?"

She looked up to see a woman wearing green scrubs like her dad's looking down at her.

Sierra thought fast. "Yeah," she decided. "I'm here to see my daddy but I got on the elevator by accident and got off here an' now I forgot what floor he's on." She smiled hopefully. "Can you help me?"

The woman smiled back at her. "I think I can do that. You really shouldn't wander off like that," she added, and Sierra just nodded, trying to look sorry, instead of rolling her eyes like she wanted to. "What's your daddy's name?"

Sierra opened her mouth to tell her, but just then a man walked up to them, saying, "Starr, hey, I need to talk to you." Then he saw Sierra and just _stared_. "Sierra Rose?"

"Yeah," she answered, confused, while the woman – Starr – jerked like someone pinched her.

"Sierra Rose Fish?" she said. She looked back and forth from Sierra to the man, a weird look on her face. The man knelt down next to Sierra, and he had a _really_ weird look on his face.

"You probably don't remember me, but I knew you when you were a baby. I'm Sky," he said.

Sierra wanted to scream. She came here to see Daddy and instead she had to deal again with crazy strangers acting like they knew her.

"Can you take me to see my daddy now?" she asked, as politely as she could.

"Um, I don't think…did Roxy bring you here?" Sky asked, looking around. "Where is she? Roxy's my mom," he added.

Sierra didn't care. "Yeah," she lied. "I don't know where she went. Do you know what floor my daddy's on?" If they told her that, she could get there by herself.

Starr reached over and poked Sky in the shoulder. "Maybe you should go get Dr. Lewis," she said pointedly. "Sierra and I can wait down here for you."

Sierra didn't like that idea at all, but Sky agreed and hopped in the elevator and Starr grabbed her hand before she could follow and pulled her over to some chairs to wait. Sierra was thinking about kicking her in the shins, when she asked, "Roxy didn't really bring you here, did she?"

Sierra pulled her hand free and glared. "So what?"

"So, you must be a really smart and brave girl to get here by yourself."

She considered that. "I walked," she admitted.

Starr nodded. "That's pretty impressive. But really dangerous, too. I have a little girl a little older than you, and I'd be scared to death if she was wandering around town by herself."

Sierra stomped her foot. "I'm not a baby. And my daddy's here. He's hurt and I have to see him!" Tears started streaking down her face, even though she tried hard to hold them back

Starr knelt down and gave her a hug. "I know, sweetie. Believe me, I know exactly how you feel."

She sniffled and tried to calm down. "Your names go together," she said, finally, because she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"What?"

"Starr and Sky. They go together."

Starr let go and stared at her for a second and then started to laugh hard. "Yeah, I guess they do." Once she stopped laughing, she smiled at Sierra. "I know you're scared about your daddy. But all the doctors here – including your other daddy – are taking real good care of him. And your brother is just fine-"

Sierra's mouth dropped open. "My baby brother is here and nobody told me!" she yelled, furious.

Starr looked surprised and said, "Um…"

Just then, Dad came running out of the elevator. "Sierra!" He snatched her up and hugged her hard. "What are you doing here?"

"I want to see Daddy," she told him, arms tight around his neck. "And my brother. Is he really born? Where is he? Is Daddy okay? Did a bad guy hurt him?"

"Whoa, whoa. Just a second." He sat down with Sierra in his lap. "How did you get here? Did Roxy bring you?"

Sierra sighed, wondering why no one cared about what was really important. "No. She wouldn't tell me anything. Is Daddy-"

"She walked, she said," Starr put in, and Sierra scowled at her.

 _"What?"_ Uh-oh. Dad sounded mad. "Does Roxy even know where you are?"

She shrugged, ducking her head. "No. She was still asleep when I left."

"Oh, my God," He sagged back in the chair, looking kind of like he was sick to his stomach. He ran his hands over his face, before taking Sierra by the shoulders and looking her in the eye. "Sierra Rose, don't ever go off by yourself without telling anyone again. That's very dangerous. You could have gotten hurt, and we wouldn't have known where you were or how to help you. Anything could have happened." He shook her gently. "Do you understand me?"

"I wanted to see Daddy!" It came out in a wail.

"I know you do, baby, but you can't go off by yourself. Promise me you won't do that again."

"I promise," she sobbed and he hugged her tight again. She barely noticed when Starr got up and pulled Sky away.

"Is Daddy okay?" she asked once she was calmer. She felt her dad take a deep breath.

"He's hurt pretty bad, munchkin. But, yes, he's going to okay. It'll take awhile, but he's really strong and he can do it."

"Did a bad guy hurt him?"

"Yes." He rubbed her back. "A bad guy shot him. I know that's scary, but don't worry. Daddy is doing really well, I promise."

"I want to see him," Sierra said, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"I don't think that's a good idea. He's sleeping right now and he needs lots of sleep to get better. But we can go see your new little brother right now, if you want."

Sierra bit her lip, thinking. She did want to see her brother, but…"I can be really quiet. I won't wake him up, Dad, I promise. I just really need to see him, so I know he's okay. Please?"

Dad rubbed his face again, and Sierra knew he was close to agreeing. She gave him her biggest, saddest eyes and he sighed. "All right. But just for a minute, okay?"

"Okay," she nodded solemnly. He stood up and took her hand, leading her towards the elevator.

It was creepy, seeing Daddy laying so still, wires all over and a big tube going down his throat.

"That's a respirator," Dad said quietly, squeezing her hand. "It looks scary, but it's helping him breathe."

"Does it hurt?"

"No," he said quickly. "His throat might be a little sore when after it comes out, but that's all."

Sierra was about to ask if it hurt where Daddy was shot, but decided that was stupid question. It had to hurt. She walked slowly up to the bed. She didn't let go of her dad's hand, but slipped her other one into Daddy's.

"Hey, Daddy," she whispered. "Please get better and be okay. Because Dad and the baby and me all love you so much." Then she sucked in her breath. "Dad!" she yelped. "He squeezed my hand!"

Dad stepped closer behind her, saying "Oliver?" and Sierra didn't let go of Daddy, but raised up on her tiptoes. She saw that Daddy's blue eyes were wide open and looking up at them.

Dad laughed, only it sounded kind of like he was crying, too, and he set his hand on right on top of hers and Daddy's and for the first time all morning, Sierra was sure everything was going to be okay.


	12. Visitors

After a week, Oliver had mentally compiled a long list of things that sucked about being in the hospital. At the top, above the shockingly intense pain and the various indignities involving bodily functions when not allowed to get out of bed, was that he wasn't allowed to see Jasper. The risk of post-op infection was still too great to even let the baby to be wheeled into his hospital room. Kyle was sympathetic, but firmly agreed with the other doctors. Despite providing him with an endless stream of photos and videos, mostly of Jasper yawning or drooling, Oliver had to make do with other visitors, some expected, some not.

***

Two days after he first regained consciousness, he had woken to find his mother sitting by his bedside

"Mom?" he croaked.

"Oliver!" she leaned forward, clasping his hand. "Oh, thank God, you're back with us!"

"What…" he paused to lick his parched lips.

His mother noticed. "Do you want some water?" she asked, reaching for a pink plastic cup on the small table next to the bed and slid the straw between his lips. "Here you go," she murmured soothingly.

The water was lukewarm and stale. He instantly decided it was the most glorious thing he'd ever tasted. He sucked greedily, dimly shocked at how tiring even that action was.

"Thanks," he whispered.

His mother set the cup back in its place. She couldn't seem to keep her hands still, she squeezed them together, then they fluttered up to her chest, before reaching out to smooth his hair. Her hand hovered above his forehead just long enough for him to notice the hesitation. Her touch seemed to carry a small electric charge. For the first time, he began to consider that she was really there and he was not having an weirdly specific dream.

"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly.

She colored, much as he was prone to doing. His father had often teased the both of them about their tendency to blush. He cast his eyes around the room rapidly. His father was nowhere to be seen. He exhaled carefully, not sure whether he was disappointed or relieved.

"What do you mean? You were shot, Oliver," she was saying. "Where else would I be?"

He felt his eyes close, unable to take the painfully earnest expression on her face. He was tempted to point out that he hadn't seen or heard from her in over a year, but pointing out the obvious was just a bit too much for him at the moment. But another question occurred to him.

"How did you find out?" Had Kyle called his parents? He couldn't imagine that, unless he had thought he was dying. Jesus, _had_ he been dying? 

He heard her shift her weight. "Layla told me," she said at last.

That brought his eyes open again. "What?"

"Yes," she said. "I had called her to tell her- to see if you would be agreeable to hearing from me again, and when she didn't get back to me when she said she wouldm I was concerned and called again. She was apparently still in the hospital and told me everything." She fixed him with a look that was somehow both stern and pleading. "Why? Were you not intending on telling us?"

"Telling you the truth hasn't generally worked out for me," he shot back, pain and exhaustion shutting down the filter between his mouth and his brain. His mind swirled with confusion. Something about her explanation didn't make sense, but he couldn't quite pinpoint what. Since when did his mother talk to Layla?

"That's not fair, Oliver," she said, sitting down again.

Maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. In any case, he didn't feel up to an argument. Where the hell was Kyle? He'd been haunting his hospital room every time he'd woken up so far. Now he chose to absent himself? He doubted Kyle would let his mother chase him off, but…

"Kyle's with the baby."

He opened his eyes again, startled. She smiled, a little wryly. "See, I can still sometimes read your mind." She took his hand again. "He's beautiful, Oliver."

"I'll take your word for it," he mumbled.

"I know you haven't been able to see him yet. I'm sorry, sweetheart. But that should be all the motivation you need to listen to the doctors and do what you need to do to get stronger. You were always such a terrible patient.

"But, Oliver," she leaned forward, voice calm but tinged with great feeling, "I know there's nowhere you'd rather be than with your son."

"Mom-"

"You're my son. There's nowhere I'd rather be than right here."

Abruptly, the ever-present exhaustion seemed have doubled in intensity.

"Thanks, Mom," he managed, and was out.

***

Bo Buchanan had been there the day he woke up.

"Did you find the shooter? Was it McGowan?" Oliver rasped. They had taken him off the ventilator, but his throat still felt raw, as if it had been scoured by sand.

Bo shot a look at Kyle, hovering protectively at Oliver's shoulder. The injured cop rolled his eyes. "I'll worry more if I don't know what's going on," he said, as firmly as he could manage. The effect was spoiled when he coughed, pain blooming from his chest. He was embarrassed, but accepted a drink of water from Kyle, before looking again to Bo. "Tell me."

"McGowan's in the wind," the commissioner admitted. "We're confident that he was the one that shot you and Layla, but he haven't been able to locate him yet. We will," he added, seeing the look on Oliver's face.

He wanted to apologize – if only he'd managed to get a look at the shooter's face! – but Bo went on, his tone shifting from serious to faux-serious. "We have some unfinished business to take care of, Fish."

"What?" he asked blankly, before hastily correcting himself. "Uh, yes, sir?"

"You remember that we were supposed to have a meeting the morning you got shot?"

"Yes," he answered, though until that moment, he hadn't.

"Well," Bo dragged the word out, before holding up a thick booklet. "We – Price and I – thought that it was past time you started pulling more of your own weight." He made to toss the booklet at Oliver, but caught himself just in time. Flushing a bit awkwardly, he handed it to him instead.

Flummoxed, Oliver read the title. _Llanview Police Department Detective Exam Study Guide._ "You want me to take the detective's exam?"

Bo leaned forward in his chair. "The detective squad is chronically short-staffed, you know that. Instead of doing as we have been, hiring someone from outside the jurisdiction, we thought it would be a better idea to promote from within. You were the first choice both for both of us."

Oliver realized he was gaping. He glanced up at Kyle. His boyfriend looked as surprised as he was. "That's great!" he declared, meeting his eyes. "Isn't that great, Oliver?"

"Yes," he heard himself say. He cleared his throat painfully. "Thank you, Commissioner. This is an incredible opportunity and honor and…" To his horror, he felt his eyes start to fill.

Bo mercifully pretended not to notice. "I better get going. Heal up, Fish. You should have plenty of time off to study for the exam in the next few months." He placed a hand on Oliver's shoulder and squeezed. Oliver couldn't do anything but nod.

***

Schuyler Joplin's visit on the fourth day was awkward and brief, but Oliver had had time to think and he didn't see the sense in wasting the opportunity.

"I'm sorry," he told him, after the small reserve of small talk was dispensed with.

Joplin's look of bafflement almost made him smile. Almost.

"About Sierra," he went on and saw the man's face close. "If I'd stepped up sooner, a lot of things might have gone differently. You-" he coughed, painfully, and Schuyler silently filled his water cup and handed it to him. "Thank you. Anyway, if I had admitted the possibility, once I knew, you wouldn't have been blindsided. You wouldn't have gotten so attached to her, wouldn't have gone off the rails the way you did. Maybe...you probably would never have shot Bo, gone to prison." _Maybe Stacy wouldn't have died._ The words, spoken and unspoken, lay heavy in the air.

"I regret a lot of things about that time," Schuyler said, finally, just as Oliver was starting to twitch. "But not getting to be Sierra's father, even if it was just for a little while. I loved her. It was the first time I really loved anyone else unselfishly." His eyes were calm and sad as they met Oliver's. "I appreciate you saying all that. Honestly. But I was riding for a fall back then. Rachel told me I was addicted to Gigi and she was right. Then finding out about Mitch...it was never going to end well. If I learned anything in prison, it's that you can't do other people's time. You made mistakes, so did all of us in that mess. You didn't force me to do anything, Fish. Don't blame yourself for what I did. Don't carry what's not yours."

Oliver breathed carefully, trying to keep his composure. His voice was a rasp. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it." Schuyler grinned suddenly, unexpected and wicked. "Take care of yourself, Fish. Someone's gotta keep that blackmailer of yours out of trouble, huh?"

Before Oliver could think of a retort, he was gone.

***

Sierra was by far the most welcome visitor.

"Daddy, look what I got," she said. She held up a backpack, brightly patterned with orange and yellow fish on a purple background. "This is for me, 'cuz I'm a Fish," she explained, as if concerned that he might not realize the connection. "I'm going to take it to kindergarten next week."

"Wow, that's really cool," he told her, feeling a twinge that had nothing to do with the stitches holding his chest together. He privately resolved to be out of the hospital in time for Sierra's first day of school. "Did Dad help you pick that out?" He glanced knowingly at Kyle, who had never quite gotten over his tendency to buy their daughter fish-themed everything.

With a grin, Kyle held his hands up as if to fend off the unspoken accusation.

"No," Sierra chattered on. "Grandma bought it for me."

"Grandma?" Oliver shot Kyle another look. This time the response was a shrug. Oliver couldn't quite read his expression.

"Yeah," he said. "Apparently, she's sticking around for a while."

_Huh._ "Where's she staying? At the house?"

Kyle's mouth quirked. "No. She took a room at Roxy's."

Before he could figure out his own reaction to that news – relief, amusement, or horror – he caught sight of his daughter's face. Sierra was staring at where his hospital gown had fallen open, revealing the ugly scars on his chest. Apparently the nurse hadn't bothered to re-tie it properly when she'd last checked his injuries.

He started and even that tiny movement made him gasp. "It looks bad, sweetie," he told her, cursing himself for scaring her even more than he had. What was wrong with him? "But it's healing. I'm fine, I promise." He looked helplessly at Kyle, who came over to set the gown right, seemingly calm and matter-of-fact.

Sierra watched, creases in her small forehead.

"Sierra? You okay?" Kyle prompted, crouching down next to her and laying a hand on her shoulder. Oliver felt a vicious stab of envy at the easiness of the movement.

Sierra Rose didn't answer for another agonizing moment before raising blue eyes to Oliver's. She looked serious, but not afraid or upset.

"We match, Daddy," she said, laying a small hand on the front of her cotton tee-shirt, underneath which Oliver knew lay her own surgery scars, long since faded to white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The little scene with Schuyler wasn't in the original posted fic. Maybe because it's new, but it's now my favorite part of this chapter. Please, as always, feedback is welcome!


	13. Moonlight

Oliver shut the door behind the group of trick-or-treaters, all chorusing "thank you," and shivered. It was unseasonably cold for Halloween and the air held a hint of incoming snow. "I hope your sister and dad are warm enough out there," he said to Jasper, who blinked drowsily from his swing. Setting the candy bowl down, he scooped the baby up into his arms, despite being an experienced-enough parent to know that a baby on the verge of falling asleep should be left alone. Easygoing as usual, Jasper made no fuss.

Sitting back down on the sofa, baby settled comfortably on his shoulder, he reflected on the difference between his children. Sierra Rose had been a happy baby, but also a demanding one, quickly becoming displeased if she wasn't the center of attention. Jasper, by contrast, was simply mellow, only crying when he needed to be fed or changed. It was just as well, Oliver thought. Poor Kyle had been run ragged these last two months, between caring for a newborn and the recovering Oliver. Perhaps Jasper had somehow intuited the best way to give his frazzled fathers a break.

Oliver picked up his well-thumbed study guide from the coffee table, small colored sticky-tabs on nearly every page. He was due to take the detective exam the next morning and could feel nerves starting to ramp up.

Oliver began to leaf through the booklet, before tossing it back on the table. "I know all this stuff," he told Jasper. "Last-minute cramming just confuses you and stresses you out. Take it from me." He smirked, remembering Kyle offering him that bit of wisdom, the night before his computer science mid-term. He had gone on to distract him thoroughly from any thoughts of studying. In fact, Oliver had overslept the next morning and had almost not made it to the test on time. But he'd gotten an A.

 _Hopefully he'll be up for distraction tonight_ , Oliver thought, settling back into the couch, patting Jasper on the back absently. They had not had sex since before the shooting, understandably with Oliver unable to take a deep breath without pain for several weeks, to say nothing of taking care of two kids. But Oliver was much better now and some desires were starting to reassert themselves.

"Halloween is romantic, right, Jasper?" he asked. "I mean, it can be."

Jasper had nearly fallen asleep again, but at being so addressed, he opened his eyes and stared up into Oliver's face. He felt a tightening in his chest that had nothing to do with the still-livid scar underneath his shirt. Jasper's eyes had already started to shift from the grey-blue they'd been at birth to a green-flecked brown. Kyle's eyes.

"What do you think of your first Halloween, Jasper?" he murmured. "I hope you're not too disappointed that you don't have a costume." Jasper didn't seem disappointed at all, clad in a black footie pajamas with a tiny ghost embroidered on the front, a speech bubble above its head saying, BOO! The plummeting temperatures had helped Oliver convince Kyle not to take the two-month old out trick-or-treating, along with the suggestion that Sierra Rose would appreciate having one of her fathers to herself, even if they went in a group with the Vegas. Sierra had betrayed no jealousy in the past two months, much to Oliver's relieved surprise. She had been excited to have a little brother, but she was a girl very much unused to sharing the spotlight. Oliver grimaced at the thought, hoping her unexpected complacence was not a result of lingering fear over him. Kyle had shared the story of Sierra's solo trip to the hospital. Hopefully, that would be the last of that sort of thing. Knowing his disconcertingly fearless daughter, he wasn't too optimistic.

Another group of trick-or-treaters disrupted these thought, which was just as well.

"This is our time to get to know each other," he reminded Jasper once they were gone. This was the longest he'd been alone with his second child. Though the circumstances were very different, he was unable to keep from remembering how he'd spent so little time with Sierra until she was about this same age. He made a face at himself, both at the memories of one of his biggest failures, as well as with fresh annoyance at allowing old guilt to effect his time with his son.

"What do you think?" he asked, tickling the baby's belly. "How's life treating you? Any complaints?"

Jasper's grinned at him, wide and toothless, with just a little bit of drool.

"I'll take that as a no. Glad to hear it."

A half-hour later, the stream of trick-or-treaters had slimmed down to a trickle, owing more to the rising wind outside then the lateness of the hour. The door opened and along with a gust of cold air, an explosion of color and noise blew in.

"Daddy!" A purple octopus danced in his direction, brandishing a bulging sack. Her face, underneath the large hood that made up the octopus' head, was flushed with cold and excitement. Following behind her, rushing to keep up, was little Pilar, dressed as a rainbow in a multi-colored dress he knew Layla had designed herself, with a painted cardboard rainbow attached like a backpack.

Spotting her brother, who was back in his swing, Sierra abruptly changed directions, dropping the sack of candy to the floor and collapsing in front of the swing in a mass of purple tentacles. "Jazzy!"

"Guess I see how I rate," Oliver joked to Kyle, Cris and Layla. These latter two were dressed as Han Solo and Princess Leia, while Kyle had not bothered with a costume at all, wearing jeans, a wine-colored sweater and his dark coat. Oliver thought he looked incredibly handsome, and also tired.

"We tried to get her to dress as Yoda, or R2-D2, or even, like, a Ewok," Cris explained, when Oliver asked about their costumes. He looked at his daughter, who unlike her friend, was ignoring Jasper in favor of rifling through her bag of candy. "But she insisted on being a rainbow."

"It suits her," Layla put in, sitting down next to Oliver on the couch and stealing the blanket Kyle had left for him. "Brrr! I nearly froze out there."

"You should've worn a coat over that costume," Kyle said, coming around the back of the couch and leaning down to give Oliver a sweet – if chilly – kiss on the forehead.

"It's the perfect costume for her," Layla continued, ignoring Kyle. "Pilar is bright and beautiful like a rainbow, aren't you, sweetie?"

She glanced up from her sorting to grin cheerfully. "Yup!" Cristian settled himself on the floor next to the girls in order to prevent them from stuffing themselves (and possibly to steal a piece or two.)

"So, how are you?" Oliver asked Layla, bumping her with his shoulder, mostly to keep her from asking him. He was entirely sick of that question.

She gave him a look that said she knew exactly what he was doing, but shrugged. "Fine. The boutique has been doing great since the Craze article. In fact," her eyes brightened and she drew herself up. "I'm going to be working at _Craze_ now. As fashion editor."

"That's wonderful, Layla!" He hugged her, delighted, hearing Kyle offer his own congratulations. After a moment, he abruptly realized that Cristian had said nothing. He turned to look.

"When did this happen?" Cris asked quietly.

"Blair offered me the job last week, after the last one quit to move out to the West Coast. I said I needed to think about it, so I did. I accepted today."

"You didn't tell me."

"I wasn't aware I need your permission."

"You know that's not what I mean!" Angry color was growing on Cristian's high cheekbones. "I'm just surprised you never mentioned it at all."

Layla seemed a little uncomfortable at that, her fingers running nervously over the coiled braids on either side of her head. Her husband's next words, however, had her sitting bolt upright in anger.

"Fashion editor, that's a big job."

"Are you saying I can't handle it?"

"No! Just, with the boutique and Pilar-"

"Guys!" Kyle broke in, nodding at the little girls, who were now staring wide-eyed. Oliver was pretty sure a similar expression was on his face. He caught an interrogative glance from Kyle and gave a tiny shake of the head in response. No, he didn't know where this was coming from.

"This is exciting news," he said tentatively into the thick silence and out of the corner of his eye saw Kyle wince. Well, someone had to say something!

"Yes," Layla said with a brittle smile. "I don't need to spend all day every day at the boutique, I trust my people working there. I think it's a good example for Pilar to see her mother have a fulfilling, varied career. I would never neglect my daughter," She added with some force.

"I know that," Cristian said quietly. He met Oliver's eyes briefly, and Oliver thought he seemed a little lost. He shook off the expression, though, and rose to go to his wife. He kissed her. "Congratulations," he said, and if it sounded a little forced, nobody pointed it out.

***

"Kids both asleep?" Oliver asked, determinedly setting aside his worries about Cristian and Layla as Kyle entered their bedroom.

He nodded, "The baby is, anyway. If Sierra's not asleep, she's at least in bed."

"She was practically vibrating tonight. How much candy did she have?"

Kyle only shrugged as he undressed. Oliver lost track of all thoughts of their children. Kyle seemed oblivious to his hungry gaze, as he matter-of-factly pulled on an old t-shirt and faded pajama bottoms and crawled into bed.

"I'm worn out," he said around a yawn. "Does it make me old if I wonder how they can have that much energy?"

"I'm going to say no," Oliver said, putting an arm around Kyle's shoulder, pleased when he cuddled closer. Hopefully, Kyle was over the idea that he might split apart and end up back in the hospital. "Although _this_ might indicate otherwise." He lifted a finger and teasingly traced the gray strands that threaded through the dark hair at Kyle's temples.

One eye opened and stared coldly in Oliver's direction. "And whose fault is that?" The eye closed again.

Chastened, Oliver inched down and pressed a kiss against the gray hair. It was true enough, the last few months had been hard on Kyle. In some ways, perhaps harder than on Oliver. He considered saying something about how the gray made Kyle look distinguished, but thought better of it.

"Mmm," Kyle said, forestalling the need for Oliver to say anything. "That tickles." Without opening his eyes again, he lifted a hand to run his fingers along the dark gold scruff on Oliver's chin. On medical leave from work, he hadn't bothered to shave regularly.

Oliver saw his chance. He rolled over on top of Kyle. "Yeah? Let's see if it tickles anywhere else."

Kyle's eyes sprang open. "Ol-" he didn't get the name out before Oliver was nuzzling his throat, then, shimmying downward, he shoved Kyle's t-shirt up.

"Does it tickle here?" It must, as Kyle's abdominal muscles quivered underneath his lips. After a moment, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of the pajamas and jerked. "Huh. Looks like you're not that old yet. I wonder, will it tickle here?" Grinning, he looked up.

Kyle's breath caught and his eyes had darkened with need. "Let's find out."

***

Much later, when he was able to form coherent thoughts again, Kyle muttered, "I'm pretty sure I have stubble burn everywhere, Grizzly Adams." Oliver shook with laughter.

"Should I shave it off?"

"No." He brushed his fingers along the scruff again, savoring the feel of it.

"Convinced that the least little exertion isn't going to make me break apart and die?"

Kyle sighed and curled closer, resting his head on Oliver's chest. The scars were rough underneath his cheek. "You can't blame me for worrying about you." He could still feel the echo of that worry, that fear, underneath the pleasant, sated heaviness of his body. Oliver's arms tightened around him and he felt a kiss pressed onto the top of his head.

"No. But I'm fine now. You took great care of me. You take great care of all of us."

Kyle felt tears prick at his eyes. He said nothing and neither did Oliver.

He had nearly fallen asleep when Oliver slid out from underneath him and out of bed. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Oliver must have switched the light off at some point that Kyle couldn't remember, but the room wasn't completely dark, with pale moonlight streaming in through the window.

"Whaddya doin'?" he whispered.

Oliver turned, smiled self-consciously in the dim light. "Waiting," he whispered back.

Kyle felt his brow furrow. "Waiting for what?"

"Midnight."

Still puzzled, he glanced automatically at the clock. As he did so, it turned from 11:59 to 12:00. Behind him, he heard Oliver take a deep breath. His bewilderment grew and he sat up, watching as Oliver came closer and opened the drawer in his night table, taking something out that Kyle couldn't see.

"What's that?"

"It's November 1st," he answered, as if this had some significance.

"Okaaay," Kyle said slowly.

"I was going to wait until later, maybe even take you up to the roof, wait for the perfect moment, but this suddenly felt right and I couldn't wait until tomorrow even if it is technically today…"

"Oliver!"

He stopped mid-sentence, staring at Kyle in surprise.

"You're rambling."

"Oh," He flushed, visible even in the moonlight. He sat down next to Kyle. His body seemed to be humming with some odd tension. "Six years ago today, you almost married someone else. You remember?"

Kyle stared at him. "Yes, Oliver, I remember that. What are you-"

"That was a new beginning for us. And I was thinking, six years is a long time. Much longer than the six minutes you dated whatshisname."

"Nick," Kyle couldn't resist pointing out, amused at Oliver's jealousy, even as he felt his heart start to beat faster.

"Nick," Oliver repeated, with a note of disdain. Shaking it off, he went on, "But he was right about one thing, you are a catch. So…"He broke off, sliding gracefully down to the floor on one knee. He opened the small box in his hand and held it up. Oliver knelt in front of Kyle, limmed with silver moonlight, naked and beautiful. The ring shone nearly as brightly as his eyes.

"Kyle Lewis, would you marry me?"

He had never been a fan of the cliché, but now he understood. Time really had stopped. It seemed that nothing had ever existed or ever would outside this moment or this man. When he finally found his voice again, it was to utter an inanity.

"You bought a ring,"

Oliver laughed, hope and nerves wrapped up the sound. "Yeah. I went to Logan's once I was cleared to drive. After everything that happened, I…well. I just couldn't imagine not being married to you anymore. I-"

"Yes!" Kyle blurted, unable to wait another second, unable to believe he hadn't answered immediately. He took a deep breath, trying and failing to keep his voice steady. "Yes, of course I'll marry you." He grabbed Oliver and pulled him close, kissing him hard.

Oliver returned the kiss enthusiastically, before pulling away. "Wait a minute, you're forgetting something." He took the ring from its box, slid it onto Kyle's finger. It fit perfectly.

"What are these?" Kyle asked, lifting his hand up in front of his face to peer at it. The wide platinum band was simple, with three small dark stone set diagonally in the front.

"Black diamonds. I know that's not exactly traditional," Oliver said softly. "But as soon as I saw this ring, it reminded me of you."

Kyle leaned forward to rest his forehead against Oliver's. "It's perfect," he whispered, speaking of more than just the ring. "I love it. I love you."

"I love you, too."

After several moments studying the ring winking at him from his finger, too full of sheer happiness to speak, he moved suddenly, pouncing on Oliver.

"What, again?" he asked breathlessly. "Didn't you get enough before?"

"We weren't engaged before."

"I can see you're going to be a demanding husband," Oliver said, heaving a big sigh that was lost amid his laughter. "But I suppose I'll adjust."

"Shut up," Kyle suggested, before using his own mouth to make sure he did.

"B-bossy, too," Oliver managed. "God, Kyle!"

Neither one said much more that night.

_Finis_


End file.
